Learning To Stand
by vocalspaz88
Summary: Tavros had an extremely small comfort zone. People frightened him, he had a stutter, and the girl he was interested in didn't seem to think he was worth her time. He had his best friend Gamzee to lean on, but his father, still grieved over the loss of his wife, only had Tavros. When a terrible accident strikes the Nitram family, how will the pieces be put together again?
1. Chapter 1

High up in the sky, a twinkle shone through the night. Its light was enough to catch a young boy's eye, even through the dense trees of the forest he was wondering through. Snow crunched under his feet as he ran, darting energetically through the shadows, seeking out that gleaming light. "Tinker Bell," He whispered, stepping into a clearing. "T-Tink, is that you?"

He had never been in _that_ clearing before. It was beautiful, and as he tip toed forward, he saw that it wasn't just a beautiful clearing, it was also a looming cliff, looking over the whole city. Thought it was a spectacular view, it wasn't the city below that had the boy slowing to a stop. He was looking up; realizing that the light he had believed to be his friend was instead a very familiar star. He smiled, standing up on his tip toes as if to get closer. Everyone knew the second star to the right was the portal to Neverland, and the way it gleamed just called to him, lulling him into a sort of wondrous trance, compelling him to take just one more step.

The soft crunch of snow was quickly followed by the crumbling of falling rocks, and suddenly, he was being yanked back by the collar of his shirt. "O-oh," he said, chuckling softly as he was dropped safely on his butt in the wet, semi frozen slush. "Uh, hello Tinker Bell."

Looming over him with a flashlight was the prettiest girl in the world, her blonde hair free and swirling in the breeze while her cobalt blue eyes peered straight into the boy's soul. She wore a short, white fairy dress with shimmering blue wings, and her pouting lips were painted the same color, as well as the symbol on her chest. She gave him an exasperated sort of look. "You're so lucky I'm around, Peter," She told him. "You fall so often you'd be a goner without what_ I _taught you."

He gave a nervous laugh and struggled to his feet, straightening until he could look down at her. "What… Um, what was it again?" He asked. "That you uh, taught me?"

"To fly, of course," She told him smugly, shimmying her shoulders to make her wings flutter. "Remember how?"

He glanced from her eyes, down to her lips and back again, hesitantly stepping forward. "Faith…"

She nodded.

He took her hand, meeting her eyes. "Trust."

She looked a little uneasy at the contact, but played along. "One more thing."

"Pixie dust." Slowly, hesitantly, he leaned in and closed his eyes, but before he knew it he was stumbling forward. She had yanked her hand away before he could get close enough, and his sudden loss of balance earned him a face full of snow.

_"Ew, Tavros,"_ She whined, glaring at him. _"What_ do you think you're _doing?"_

"S-sorry," Tavros stuttered, teeth chattering as he picked himself up. His Peter Pan costume was far from warm, especially after years of wear, tear, and sketchy sewing jobs. "S-sorry, I'm uh, never mind… Sorry."

_"What?"_

"I… I got caught up in the moment." If Tavros was being truthful, their game of Live Action Role-play was only partly responsible for his attempt. Vriska Serket, the only one who ever Larped with him, made his heart melt like butter on a stove. His whole face was aflame with embarrassment at such a blunt rejection.

"Whatever," She sighed. "School's starting up again tomorrow anyway, and I want to something sweet to ring in the New Year. I've been planning for this all damn winter, and it finally hit me. Painball!"

Tavros looked alarmed. "Excuse me?"

"Paintball! I was thinking we could wait until everyone left school, then turn the whole cafeteria into a giant, badass, paintball arena! No one would know _what_ hit them!"

"U-uh, Vriska, I don't um… I mean, are you sure that would be-"

"You _will_ be there," She said, cutting him off. "I'll supply the equipment, you just bring you're a-Game."

Before he could form any more protests, she was gone, leaving him alone in the snow. Feeling pathetically alone, Tavros shuffled his feet, leaving small patches of grass exposed, free of the oppressing slush. Sometimes, it was very difficult to be friends with Vriska Serket.

Their friendship went back as long as Tavros could remember and as far as he knew, his crush on her went back even longer. It was painfully obvious how out of his league she was, anyone could have seen it, and the way she treated him made people wonder why Tavros even tried, but he knew without Vriska, he'd have almost no one.

Almost no one.

Just then, the heavy crunch of trodden snow perked Tavros' ears, along with a stream of wordless, off beat singing that could only be coming from one person. Tavros squinted, seeing a tall, lanky silhouette strolling carelessly nearer. "G-Gamzee?" Tavros asked, surprised. "Gamzee?"

The silhouette paused and the singing stopped, then, as the towering shadow turned, the light of the stairs illuminated a familiarly painted face. The clown smiled a lazy, light heated smile that stretched the gray paint, and Tavros straightened, standing on his toes to get a better look at his best friend. "Gamzee!"

"Tavbro," Bellowed Gamzee, breaking into a run when he recognized the boy on the cliff. "Tavbro, my motherfucking _favorite_ mother fucker all up and waiting for me like a chocolate coated miracle!"

Tavros couldn't help but laugh when he was tackled to the ground and wrestled into an affectionate headlock. "H-hi there, uh, buddy. What… What uh, brings you to… you know, out here?"

"Ah, the land of logs and snow!"

"The uh, the what?"

"The motherfucking forest, man," Gamzee chuckled, rolling onto his back and looking up at the stars. "The tree zone all up in winter, the place where all the little woodland motherfuckers be making their place of residence, man."

Tavros laughed again. "Yeah, that. Um… Bro."

"You know me," Said the clown. "I'm always all up and hunting for a quiet place to get my smoke on and pray." As if what he said reminded him of something important, Gamzee jolted upright, staring wide eyed at the sky before his lazy expression returned, relaxing his features. "I came, man, because I'm expecting me a real big miracle."

"What kind of miracle?"

"A miracle of the white king," He said, a touch of his true excitement leaking past his casual high. "Something is gonna happen that is so motherfucking beautiful, its gonna free my father from the dark carnival he's all up and involved in."

"Wow…" Tavros breathed. He loved the way Gamzee spoke of miracles. He may not have understood his friend's religion, or believed in it at all himself, but nothing compared to the pure faith in Gamzee's voice.

"And I swear," Gamzee continued, tone hushed and filled with wonder. "My mother told me so all up in one of my dreams."

"That's… That's amazing Gamzee," Tavros whispered, feeling a slight ache in his chest. Both of them had lost their mothers very young. Gamzee's mom had died in a fire, and shortly afterwards Tavros' mom died in a horrible car wreck. She had been driven off of a bridge and into a river. Her body had never been recovered. Without mother's, both Gamzee and Tavros were left in the care of their fathers. He didn't know the details, but Tavros did know Gamzee had been abused. It made him very grateful for his own dad, who was nothing but loving, protective, and kind.

In a way, they owed their friendship to their loss. It was how they had met to begin with. In the second grade, they were in the same class, and the whole school was having a big mother's day celebration. Tavros had attempted to bring his father instead, but the teacher hadn't let him, leaving him alone and crying on the playground. He didn't stay too upset long, though, because it was there that Gamzee found him, the only other kid without a mom. Ever since then, they stayed closer than brothers, depending on each other for almost everything. The relationship was perfect because they both had their moments where they craved answers, where there were missing pieces they couldn't seem to find. It was nice to have someone who understood. Gamzee looked over as Tavros sat up, and gently bumped him with his shoulder. "What about you, Tav?" He asked. "You all up and missing your giver of life?"

"Oh uh, it's not that," Tavros said, realizing he was slouching a little. "It's just… School starts again like, tomorrow, and… Vriska had a few… plans."

Though Gamzee wasn't much older than Tavros, he had finished school in sophomore year, dropping out to live on his own. "Wanna talk about it?"

"M-maybe a little," He admitted, watching Gamzee stand and brush snow off of his dark, baggy jeans. "You don't uh, mind?"

"Course not, little bro," Gamzee looked down with a casual smile and extended a hand. "I'll walk you home."

Accepting the hand, Tavros allowed Gamzee to tug him to his feet, fixing his little green hat with a nervous laugh. "Thanks," He said as they started back through the trees. "I… I don't know much about it yet, but she… Vriska, that is, uh, she's planning this big p-paintball thing and I don't know… It doesn't sound very safe."

A strange sort of look crossed Gamzee's face, but it was gone as quick as it came. "If the idea puts your guts in a twisty sort of zone, you can always play a game of hooky with your favorite motherfucking juggalo." He pointed to himself with a dopey grin. "I could take you some place fun and we could lay real motherfucking low, you know?"

"I guess so," Tavros sighed.

"I'm not liking the vibes I'm getting man," He said a little more seriously. "But if a bro wants to go and get his swagger on, who am I to tell him no? I'm just saying that I ain't got a better motherfucking thing to do that chill with you, my brother."

"Th-thank you, Gamzee." The two stopped when they reached Tavros' house. The Nitram home was small and old, but it had personality. It's cobble stone walls and round windows made it look like a cottage from a fairytale, and to Tavros and his father, that was exactly what it was.


	2. Chapter 2

"So… Do you ever testdrive the cars you fix?"

Simon Nitram looked up, getting an eyeful of cleavage right in his face. He turned his head in irritation. The girl couldn't have been over twenty, her little yellow bug was covered in stickers for Christ sake. "No miss, that's against our policy."

With a dangerous smile she leaned on the hood, the exact spot that Simon had been polishing, her nut brown hair tumbling in waves around her face. "Wanna go against that?" She flirted, patting her glossy paint job. "We don't even have to come back."

"Sorry miss," He sighed, straightening his spine and running a grimy hand through his Mohawk. "Joy riding isn't a part of our ill and shine bundle, you'd better be on your way."

She sighed and rolled her amber eyes, but Eventually she gave up on the man and left the shop with her freshly oiled car. Simon shook his head as he watched her go, wondering where his sense of adventure was at times like those. He was too exhausted to date, really, too busy, and even if he had the energy, he doubted he could go through with anything. He had a son at home who missed his mother dearly, and Simon wasn't even close to being over her. Molly had been the best mother, wife, and companion Simon could have ever known.

As he thought about her he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, feeling his eyelids starting to sag. Her picture danced in his mind. With yellow blonde hair, charming green eyes, and a slight frame, she was like a spunky little fairy, and when she smiled…

"Yo, Nitram! Catch!"

Jolted out of his daze, Simon became alert just fast enough to see the can that was being hurled in his direction. Reflexes sharp, he pushed himself off the wall and snatched the can right out of the air, feeling the icy metal cooling his skin. He knew without looking what it was and cracked it open, taking a long drink. "Thanks, Mitch," He said. "I'm practically living on redbull these days."

Mitch, another mechanic at the shop Simon worked at, shrugged his shoulders and came over to join Simon by the wall. "Meh, you looked like you could use a pick me up. You just turned down a babe."

"She was half my age."

"Bastard," Mitch chuckled. "You are the only forty year old I know who is still getting hit on by perky college girls. Hell, you have a fucking Mohawk. Asshole."

"Nitram tradition," he replied with a smug smile. He took another gulp of redbull and was about to blame the female attention on his hair when suddenly he heard the rattle of a rundown motorcycle coming towards the shop. He looked up with interest and saw a kid, no older than the girl had been, with red and black jeans and a leather jacket. Simon's eyes got big and he craned his neck to get a better look. Printed on the back of the jacket was a pair of shimmering orange wings, a Taurus symbol in the center.

He stared longingly and Mitch thumped him on the back. "Go on, man!" HE encouraged. "That bike is a killer, with a few tweaks it'll run great. You love working on bikes."

"I'm… I'm gonna sit this one out," He said. It wasn't the bike he was agonizing over, it was the rider. That kid bore the crest of The Summoner, something only true followers did. Simon hadn't seen one of his followers since Tavros was born, and honestly, he hadn't thought they still existed. He wasn't part of that world anymore, he had retired years ago. If he, as The Summoner still had loyal followers, who was leading them? When Simon had led the gang, they were a band of heroes. The mighty Summoner was feared, respected, and only opposed by the leader of their rivaling gang. The Grand Highblood had never retired, as far as Simon knew, _his_ wicked followers were all over the place. The committed horrific crimes, but despite how he longed to wipe them out, Simon never tried to rejoin the mafia. He was a father.

When Tavros was born, Simon had given up his title. It had been hard at first, switching from the wealth of a mafia boss to only Molly's income as a preschool teacher. Simon quickly took on a job at vehicle repair shop to help raise their son, but when Molly died, the bills began to pile up, and he was forced to pick up a night shift at a local diner to keep afloat. He knew before he looked that Mitch was concerned by his refusal and thoughtful silence, so he took a calming breath and lifted his head, offering a tired smile before downing what remained of his energy drink. "I'm turning in early, is all," He said. It wasn't entirely a lie. "I've got the night off from the diner and I promised my kid I'd be home for dinner."

"You sure you're alright?"

"Yeah," Simon said, giving his loyal follower one last glance. "No worries."

After receiving a skeptical goodbye, Simon crushed his drink can and scored it into the trash bin as he headed to his car. He sighed a little as he settled into the old clunker, recalling how he had sold his beloved motorcycle to buy it back when Tav was a baby. The hunk of tin seemed to get uglier and rustier every time he saw it, but it got great gas mileage and ran like new because of his free access to the shop's parts, tools, and oil. Even so, it was pretty old, and growled like a beast when Simon drove. Trying to ignore the angry muttering of the engine, Simon pulled out of the employee parking lot and headed for home. As he puttered down the road, his thoughts bounced dizzily against his skull. He didn't know what to think of, there was too much going on. He dearly missed the mafia, he hated his car, he needed to buy Tavros new trainers, and his heart ached for his wife.

Parking in the driveway of his beloved fairytale cottage settled his thoughts for him, his focus on the day he first saw it, how excited Molly had been to show him. The place had been her dream house, every stone reminded him of her. The inside was full of memories as well, the place was littered with photographs, and feminine touches, though aged, still made the rooms feel homey and bright. He picked up one of the photos as he sat in his recliner, an old one in a plane wooden frame, fixing his eyes on the young couple beneath the glass. Grinning back was himself, untouched by age, bullet proof and bearing the symbol of his gang on a ratty black muscle shirt. His leather jacket was slung over a blushing Molly's shoulders.

He closed his eyes and went back to that time for a while, youthful and spunky as he ran for his pretty, blonde girlfriend. He was a king, coming down from on high to make his date in time. He spent his nights setting the streets aflame, but still made it home every morning, slipping into bed before his sweat heart had the chance to open her eyes. He was covered in dirt and sweat from a fight, but his touches were gentle. He showed Molly none of the aggression or violence of his fights, he only let her bask in the glory of his victories. He kissed her cheeks, her eyelids, and her nose, smiling at her and singing her Spanish lullabies. When she woke, her green eyes made his heart throb, and he kissed her sweetly on the lips. Simon couldn't have imagined a better way to start the day. He would eventually fall asleep and wake with a face wiped free of grime. No one else could take such good care of him. A dozen kisses later the scene changed and Simon was standing on a grassy knoll, gazing at her as she stood in the sun with her back to him, golden hair floating on a breeze.

She turned and his breath caught in his throat. For once, it wasn't only her beauty that rendered him breathless. He caught her in his arms when she ran to him, but then he slid down to his knees, resting his forehead on her rounded belly. He could feel the life that wiggled inside at the sound of her laughter. He felt her fingers in his Mohawk and he nuzzled her stomach, heart swelling with love not only for his wife, but for his son.

Upon standing, Simon searched his new surroundings, a hospital hallway, with a blush bull and a bouquet of blue flowers in his hands. He was black with ash and reeked of smoke and lighter fluid, but when he finally entered the correct room, he forgot all of that because lying in bed was his exhausted wife, and lying on her was his beautiful baby boy.

Simon's eyes snapped open as the picture slipped from his hand, the thud of it hitting the floor startling him awake from his dreams. "Tavros," He recalled, scrambling out of his chair and to the fridge. He cracked open another redbull and downed it, rushing about the house picking up and flicking on lights as it got dark outside. He swore at himself for falling asleep and went back into the kitchen, hastily tying an apron around his neck and waist. He stared hopelessly in almost every cabinet, completely at loss of what to feed his teenage son. He prepped the stove anyway, scratching his head when suddenly he heard keys in the front door and the tell tale creak of the hinges. He turned around, seeing Tavros and his best friend noisily enter.

_"Dad,"_ Tavros scolded him. "Dad, a-aren't you like, you know, tired? I… I _told_ you I was um, that I would make dinner, remember?" Laughing slightly, Tavros pushed him out of the kitchen, claiming the apron for his own and pulling out random ingredients. "Go uh, go sit with Gamzee. In the, or uh, at the table, okay?"

Simon smiled affectionately at his stuttering son, then nodded towards the lanky clown just a few steps behind. "C'mon Gamzee," He chuckled, waving the familiar kid over. "Looks like you're staying for dinner again, doesn't it?"

"Seems so, motherfucker," Gamzee replied, calmly strolling into the kitchen and sitting at the table. He carefully picked a spot from which he could watch Tavros cook. Sometimes Gamzee's adoration for Tavros was glaringly obvious, he came around all the time, the boys were hardly ever apart, really. Fate had brought them together in Simon's opinion. They of course didn't know this, but Simon had known Gamzee's father very well. Gamzee's father, a beast of a man named Grant, had been in Simon's life forever, or so it seemed. Simon wasn't sure how much Gamzee was aware of, but Grant had become The Grand Highblood just as Simon became The Summoner.

The day Tavros was born, Simon had been on a mission to assassinate Grant, and he nearly succeeded. He set fire to his rival's mansion, but has regretted it ever since. Only after retiring did Simon learn that The Grand Highblood and his infant son had been out that day, leaving only the wife Simon hadn't known he had to burn in the flames. It was only because of Simon that Gamzee didn't have a mother, and because of the guilt, the pity, and the knowledge or how awful the remaining parent was, Simon had always felt a parental responsibility for Gamzee. He worked to give him all he needed. The wealth of the Makara name untitled Gamzee to any material things he ever wanted, but Simon provided the care and support that money couldn't buy. He didn't worry as much when he learned that Gamzee had dropped out, gotten a job at a bakery, and began living on his own because he knew the teen was out of Grant's reach. Though he had his own home, Gamzee was still at the Nitram home a lot, giving Simon even more peace of mind. He didn't like to think that the sweet kid was all alone so much. "Language, you punk," Simon said hypocritically.

"Sorry Mr. Tavbro, sir," The juggalo said with a shrug and a grin. "Gotta up and say what's dancing around on my motherfucking tongue, you know?"

"Sure, kid," Simon laughed, taking a seat. He didn't really care if Gamzee cussed, but as a father, he had to at least act like he did sometimes, right? "As long as you're careful who you're calling a motherfucker."

"I got into a chill zone on a mirthful Monday morning once upon a motherfucking time," Said the teen, nodding to an imaginary rhythm. "I up and called my boss man a motherfucker, and guess the motherfuck what?"

"What?"

"Fired me," Gamzee said with a waggle of his eyebrows. They disappeared under his wild hair. "But the bro all up and couldn't sell no pies! Not a pie left the counter, man, bad mojo in them pies Mr. Nitram, bro."

"Is that so?"

_"Yes,"_ Gamzee drawled, as if the word felt good on his tongue. "The boss man brought me the motherfuck back, though, he needed my good mojo for the pies."

Simon raised his brows. "Well, that's sure something," He said, patting Gamzee on the back. "Glad you're doing well for yourself, kid. I worry, you know."

Gamzee's answering smile reminded Simon of a sleepy alligator, droopy eyes and all teeth. HHe patted Simon's head cheerfully. "You're a good man."

Simon gave a halfhearted smile, and before he could accept the complement, Tavros approached with plates full of homemade chicken strips, mashed potatoes, and green beans. At the sight of food Simon perked up, and at the sight of Tavros, Gamzee's smile widened. "I uh, just got the chicken from the pan," Tavros warned, settling the meal on the table. "I hope it's not too hot to eat."

Instead of digging right in like Simon did, Gamzee gave Tavros a hearty slap on the ass before he could sit down. Tavros' yelp caused a roar of laughter, making the kid blush through his tan skin. The shade of his face just made Simon laugh harder.

Eventually he managed to calm himself long enough to urge his son into a chair, then, they bowed their heads respectfully as Gamzee said his prayers. All throughout their meal Gamzee told stories of people he's met through his counter shifts at the bakery, he apparently got a lot of comments on his clown make-up, and Simon would in turn rant about the drunk losers who would stumble into the diner around two in the morning. Simon smiled when Tavros spoke about school. He knew his son was self conscious, but he thought the stuttering was sort of cute. It was familiar.

The light hearted chattered continued long after the food ran out until a glance at his watch told Simon just how late it was. "Yikes," He said, whistling. "Its way past Daddy's bedtime, it's almost eleven."

"Aw, hell," Gamzee said. "How the motherfucking time flies."

"You don't have to go," Tavros said quickly. "You uh, you could stay! I mean, like, you could sleep over if you don't… you know, mind…"

"Love to, brother," Gamzee sighed. "But I've got a couple of tasks to complete in my own zone of living. The gifts of nourishment must be all up and delivered to my feline friend."

"Oh right, your cat," Tavros remembered, looking sheepishly at the floor. "He's a cutie."

"Yeah," Gamzee said dreamily.

With that they said their goodbyes. And Gamzee left the house, singing as he went. "That kid is ridiculous," Simon snickered, looking back towards Tavros. "But if he gets frisky like that one more time, he's going to have to buy you a ring."

Tavros nearly fell over he whipped around so fast. "He'll… He'll _what?"_

"I'm just saying," Simon smirked. "Nitram booty don't come cheap."

_"Dad,"_Tavros groaned. He looked sufficiently mortified, so Simon cut him a little slack and sent him to bed.

He was getting a little sluggish himself, so he let his posture sag, glancing back towards the front door. He knew Gamzee was doing alright on his own, but he couldn't help but worry, the kid looked _so much_ like grant had in school. It was alarming. Rubbing his temples, Simon dragged himself to his room, flopping belly first on his bed. Gamzee was a good kid, he knew that, but the memory of Grant in his youth made him hesitant to relax.

In high school, Simon, Grant, and a pale, skinny kid named Silas Vantas were the closest of friends. It almost hurt to remember. The three kids had done everything together, studying, sports, and even chores were done as a group. They had been inseparable for many years. In collage, they took their bond a step forward and formed a highly exclusive club. At first, it was only the three of them. Simon, The Summoner, Grant, The Grand Highblood, and Silas, The Signless. Together they would run the streets and challenge each other in the silliest of ways. They'd dare each other to climb the highest trees, to leap from roof top to roof top, or to even flip off of moving cars. They were easily impressed by their own stunts, and yet, they strove to get better, getting stronger every night. In no time at all, each of the three felt practically super human in their own abilities. Silas was influential, a perfect leader, and could see the geometry and physics behind every stunt and trick. Brute strength and frightening size made Grant beast like in his power. Simon, though not as massive as Grant, was strong, but also agile and quick. His stubborn will and intimidating swagger made him a force to be reckoned with, but his power was mostly in his speed. Whether running or leaping through the air, Simon had his friends convinced that he could actually fly.

In mock flight one afternoon, Simon had been making jumps worthy of any creature of the sky. He clambered up to the highest roof top he could find and tensed to jump, but before he could, there had been a shrill scream. Grant had suspected Silas, but the other hadn't uttered a sound. Curious, they explored, staying close as they sought the source of the sound. It didn't take long to find the victim, terrified and dangling at least thirty feet from the ground, her grip on her window sill beginning to slip.

Silas noticed her first, and at once he started shouting, giving orders to his friends with unquestionable authority and confidence in his plans. Simon and Grant were a little unsure, but they followed their instructions just the same, trusting Silas if nothing else. Grant had crouched down, letting Simon step into his massive hands, and on the count of three, Grant jumped as high as he could, flinging Simon into open air. Between Grant's initial jump and the strength of his throw, Simon went soaring, way higher than even he could have jumped. He hit the building with a thump, but his flight didn't stop there. A small foothold was all he needed and with one spring he was launched upwards until finally, he was able to peel the poor girl off of the window, climbing her easily to safety.

Even Simon had trouble believing what they had accomplished, but when asked for his name, he instead told the girl his title, and those of his friends below. That night in their dorm, they knew they were heroes, and word of that spread quickly. Whenever they could they prowled, playing hero and living like kings. Soon the group started recruiting followers and their deeds as a whole spanned over everything from rescues, to hundred thousand dollar drug busts.

Eventually their robin hooding became unbelievably profitable, and people from all over the country started joining in. Silas, while his friends basked in the riches and the glory, could never stop thinking about all they could accomplish with so much power, with influence over so many people. He would rave endlessly about a world free of oppression and conflict, and he would preach to their followers about his plans to achieve such a goal. There was a girl as well, the only one on the entire gang, who followed Silas more closely than any other out of not only belief, but love. His passion for his faithful Disciple and his cause inspired Simon, it was a beautiful, and he supported it with all his heart, but Grant was enraged. To him, a world like that was pure blasphemy, it went against everything he believed in. Grant had claimed that conflict and hardships were miracles of the black queen, given as gifts to those who had the strength to bare them. Their opposite beliefs not only put strain on their friendship, but caused fighting within the gang. Often Simon would find the two on horrible brawls, brawls that almost always resulted in a serious injury for Silas, his scrawny body like a tooth pick for Grant to snap between his fingers.

In retaliation, Simon would scream at Grant, threatening to kick his ass for bullying Silas like that. He not only felt fiercely protective over Silas, but something in his gut had been telling him that Grant was changing for the worst. Simon, in hopes of saving their gang and their friendship, he tried to push the changes from his mind, but they only got worse. Finally, his acts of violence went too far, and Silas snapped. Never had Simon heard such rage from a single person, but even so, it hadn't been enough. Silas had screamed and fought with all he had, but Grant had been far too strong, easily silencing him forever with one swing of his club.

The death of Silas had been the last straw. Simon swore that day that he would avenge his friend, and he broke away from Grant forever. Their followers picked sides, forming to separate gangs under the rule of two legendary foes, overflowing with hate, and a taste for the other's blood. The two gangs clashed, and The Summoner's followers fought just as hard as any solider, but because of Simon's determination, they still fought to do good as well, and make Silas' dream come true. Under Grant, however, the other gang put their faith in the hands of the black queen, causing pain, suffering, and committing horrible crimes.

Simon had been on a mission to personally capture one of the Grand Highblood's fiercest allies. By then the gangs were anything but juvenile. Their actions were hot topics, journalists everywhere groveled for even a glimpse of one of the bosses caught on tape. That said, Simon was all business when he tracked his prey to a large theatre, where a hugely illegal drug deal was rumored to be taking place. Simon never learned if it had actually happened, because back stage where he had been hiding, was an actress, a beautiful, delicate, and graceful actress zipping up a shimmering Tinker Bell dress.

Needless to say he fell in love, and that love led to marriage and in turn, a child, which led Simon to an entirely new life. As much as he hated his mundane, low paying jobs, his little boy was worth it. Tavros was pure, Tavros was innocent and loving. He'd always shield the boy from his dangerous past, but as he fell asleep, he couldn't help but remember seeing his follower. He knew in his heart that the kid wearing that jacket believed in what him. He missed it so much.


	3. Chapter 3

Hearing the nasally screech of a generic alarm clock at six in the morning could make any teenager groan, but Tavros wasn't groaning because of the time of day. His dread was centered around a girl, a beautiful girl, one he was convinced wanted him dead. Thinking about her filled him with nervous excitement, but thinking about what she had planned filled him with fear. He had a bad feeling about breaking the rules, but he had already made an idiot out of himself by trying to kiss her, and he couldn't bear to make that worse by chickening out and staying home with Gamzee. Rolling over and covering his head with his pillow did nothing to soothe his throbbing head. He wanted so badly to impress her, he wanted her to like him, and he wanted her to think he was cool. Tavros would have been happy if for once, she didn't find him completely lame. He thought about her enthusiasm over the idea to vandalize the cafeteria with paintballs. She always seemed to be looking for trouble, and she always got excited when she found it. Tavros absently wondered if he had to _be _trouble to get her attention. He sat up, brow creased with thought. Was that what it really took? Could it actually work? Maybe, if he really shined during the match, she wouldn't think he was lame anymore.

Clinging to this hope, Tavros stumbled out of bed so fast he nearly smacked into a wall. He shook it off quickly though and threw his closet open, biting his lip and making faces. He had never really paid attention to getting dressed before, but as he rifled through his wardrobe, more and more getting thrown to the floor, everything was suddenly looking tacky and juvenile. Even when he dug deep into drawers he hardly ever opened, nothing seemed right. Groaning, Tavros gave up on his clothes for the time being and went instead to shower, nearly scalding himself with the hot water. Once he got used to the temperature he scrubbed himself vigorously with a bar of soap. The soap, however, had other ideas and slipped repeatedly from his hands, even going as far as to hit him right in the eye.

He swore at the sting of soap in his eye, cursing the slippery brick to the pits of hell, but he eventually managed to wash up enough to get out. His eye hurt, but he tried to keep his spirits up by humming as he shuffled around the bathroom. He toweled off quickly and even made an extra effort to blow dry his hair. He brushed his teeth and put on boxers, an under shirt, and some socks, about to give his closet a second chance when he glanced at a bottle on the corner of his sink. It was some sort of cologne Vriska had bought him for his last birthday, and since she had picked it out, he assumed it must have been a smell she liked. Safety seal unbroken, it was obvious the bottle hadn't ever been opened. Tavros was never really the type to wear cologne, but as he looked in the mirror and noticed his face was getting a bit scruffy, he figured a dab or two after shaving couldn't hurt.

Setting the bottle aside, Tavros splashed his face with water and worked a thick lather of bar soap onto his skin. He wet his razor and got to work, letting the blades glide across his neck, cheeks, chin, and just under his nose. "O-ow, ugh, shit…" Apparently, the razor was a tad too dull and instead of simply getting rid of hair, it decided to tear away a chunk of skin as well. Soap quickly dripped down his neck and into the cut, and Tavros sucked in a breath through his teeth. It stung worse than it had in his eye.

Trying not to let it bother him, Tavros dried off his face with a towel and picked up the cologne. He tore off the plastic with his teeth and hastily unscrewed the top, giving his neck a few sprays without thinking. The scent wasn't bad, but it stung the fresh wound so badly Tavros dropped the bottle entirely.

"Tav, are you alright in there?"

Hearing Simon's voice, Tavros turned around, feeling a slow, thin trickle of blood running down his neck. He bit his lip as Simon came in, and the man's face softened. "Come here, kid," Simon said gently, sitting down on Tavros' bed. "Bring the towel."

Sheepishly, Tavros did as he was told, sitting beside Simon and looking down at his knees. He was embarrassed; honestly he had never had such an unfortunate morning before. Tavros was beginning to blame it on that uneasy feeling growing in his stomach, but Simon had another name for it. The man took one glance around the room, then at his son, and just seemed to know. "This is about a girl, isn't it?"

"D-Dad," He mumbled, turning his head when his face flushed pink through the tan of his skin. He didn't want to talk about it.

"Hey, I just wanna help," Simon said, drying off Tavros' cut with the towel. "I'm not _that_ old yet, I still remember how it feels to get flustered over a crush.

Tavros looked up. "Really?"

"Sure I do." Simon put a hand to his sons shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "You panic, you worry, you try all sorts of stupid shit to impress her and a lot of times, you just forget to be you."

"I don't want to… I mean, she doesn't w-want _me,_ she thinks I'm… Lame and stuff." Tavros looked away as Simon smoothed a Pokémon printed band-aid to his neck. "Dad…"

"Shut up, you punk," He huffed, slapping Tavros on the back. "We both know you love Pokémon." For a second, Tavros thought Simon was going to leave it at that, but then the man crouched low and plucked a few articles of clothes from the pile on the floor. He set them out on the bed, displaying a pair of dark jeans, a leather jacket, and Tavros' favorite tee shirt, the one with "Live to LARP" printed boldly on the front.

After examining the pile, Tavros gave Simon a hopeless look. "That's my d-dorkiest shirt."

"Wrong," Simon insisted. "It's your _favorite _shirt. Wear it; a lucky tee shirt never hurt anyone."

Tavros took the clothes with a small smile and wiggled his way dressed, letting Simon tug a comb through his dark brown Mohawk a few times and give him an extra dab of cologne. "Thanks, Dad," Tavros murmured, blushing a little, but grateful.

"Anytime, Tavros."

He opened his mouth to ask Simon if a pair of lucky boxers would do him any good, but then, his beeping watch made his eyes nearly double in size. "I-I'm late!" Tavros yelped, jumping up and grabbing his backpack.

Simon's brows shot up. "Shit kid, run!"

Not having to be told twice, Tavros snatched up his jacket and bolted for the door. "B-bye Dad!" He shouted over his shoulder.

Simon was about to wave, but then he realized something and darted back to the kitchen, grabbing a small, zip up box. "Lunch, Tav!"

Tavros turned around just quick enough to catch it, and then he barreled forwards as fast as he could, probably even faster. Of all days to be late, he chose the one day he had something to prove. In a way, it was a good thing. Tavros didn't see it himself, only Simon really noticed, but he performed so well under pressure. Simon hated to see Tavros panicked and all, but sometimes it was necessary. It was hard to argue with the results.

In record time Tavros made it to school, stumbling through the doors and bumping right into another student. He yelped out an apology and was about to make a run for it, but the girl surprised him by actually responding, sending a smile his way. "Oh you're fine," She assured him, adjusting her round framed glasses. "It was my fault really; I was walking kind of sideways."

Surprise was obvious on Tavros' face when he saw who was talking to him. She was new to the school, having just moved from a tropical island, and was very beautiful. She definitely looked tropical with her tan skin, long, dark hair, and bright green eyes. Her clothes also seemed pretty exotic to Tavros, and they looked a little out of place for winter. She must have been cold, he realized. He wondered if she had ever experienced winter before. "J-Jade, right?" He asked. "Is uh, is that your name?"

"Yes," She said excitedly. "How'd you know?"

"You're um, in my biology class," He explained. "First period and I… I don't mean to uh, be like rude or anything, but aren't you… cold?"

Jade looked down at her bare knees, smoothing out the ruffles of her layered blue skirt. She nodded a little, wrapping her arms around herself as if to make up for her lack of sleeves. "A little," She admitted. "My winter clothes haven't come in yet, I ordered them, but…" She shrugged.

That was no good. "Um, here," Tavros said, wiggling out of his leather jacket. It would keep her arms warm at the very least. "If you want to, you can, l-like, borrow this for a little while."

When Tavros held it out, Jade took it with a surprised smile. "That's so sweet! Are you sure you don't need it?"

"I'm okay," He promised, blushing. "M-my uh, my Tee shirt had sleeves."

"Thanks," She giggled, putting it on. He had to admit she looked very cute in it. "Hey," She said before he could voice it. "Since we're going to the same class, do you want to walk together?"

"S-sure."

Smiling, Jade started towards class and Tavros followed timidly behind, but it didn't take long for Tavros to find _something _to trip on. In no time he had slipped and wound up flat on his back, knocked breathless by the hard tile. His eyes grew huge and his face turned scarlet when he caught a glimpse of pink from under Jade's skirt, and before he could pick himself up or say a word, he was being yanked from the floor by the collar of his shirt. "Hey, punk," Snapped a vicious sounding voice. "What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing to my girlfriend?"

Tavros didn't like being called a punk by anyone besides his father. He cowered from the speaker, a tall blonde kid who wore an intimidating pair of shades. _"Dave!"_ Jade scolded her boyfriend, glaring at him. "Don't be so mean; he was only walking me to class! He just fell!"

_"No,"_ Dave insisted. "The freak was trying to get a peek at your panties, I _saw _him!"

Tavros tried desperately to defend himself, but all he could do was helplessly stutter unable to complete even one sentence. Hade was suddenly looking at him as if he were a vile insect. "Ew, you creepy little pervert," She shrieked, throwing the leather jacket to the ground. "Get away!"

Giving him a look of disguised, Dave dropped him back on the floor and took Jade by the waist, steering her away while Tavros lay mortified on the floor. "Ow," He mumbled, rubbing his sore backside. He had landed right on his tail bone.

"My God, Tavros, why do you always have to make such an idiot out of yourself?"

Looking up, Tavros saw Vriska approach, shaking her head at him already. She must have seen the whole thing. He bit his lip and awkwardly picked himself up off of the floor, trying not to avoid eye contact. "Uh, hi there, Vriska."

"You always manage to fall over, don't you?" She sighed, looking disappointed and a little annoyed. "You can barely stand, what kind of man can barely stand? You aren't _even_ a man, are you Tavros? You're just a clumsy little Mexican boy."

A touch of irritation crossed his face. "I'm Spanish. Gamzee is Mexican."

"Yeah, whatever." Vriska rolled her eyes. "The point is, I wanted a _man_ to Capitan my paintball team."

The mild irritation was immediately replaced with shock and disbelief. "Capitan?" He demanded. "Y-you… you want _me_ to… to be _Capitan?"_

"Weren't you listening?" She snapped. "I said I _wanted_ a man, but because I have yet to find one, you're going to have to fill in, got it?"

Cutting him off before he could open his mouth, the warning bell shrieked and Vriska smiled coolly, seeming satisfied. "Perfect," She hummed smugly. "See you there."

"B-but," He stammered, reaching out towards her as she strolled away. "But I don't even, I mean, you n-never told me _where!_ Vriska?"

"See you _there_ Tavros."

Sighing, Tavros dragged himself to his first period, nerves beginning to upset his stomach. He wasn't seated for even a minute before he noticed Jade glaring at him, whispering to her friends with her face pinched in revulsion. He buried his face in his arms and took a slow, deep breath, wishing he had just stayed home. What had he been thinking? Nothing he did was ever going to impress Vriska, he was only making a fool out of himself. More than almost anything, Tavros just wanted to sink into the floor and stay there forever, but the teacher was soon urging the class to focus, claiming he had a big surprise for their first day back.

Peeking his head out just a little was all it took to see that the surprise wasn't a good one. Most of the girls in the class shrieked and babbled, some guys chortled and others stayed asleep, but Tavros felt his heart break a little. In a glass cage in the front of the room, were dozens of terrified, and white rats. "Dissection today," The teacher announced proudly, reaching to remove the lid. "I need everyone on their very best-"

The lid had hardly been loosened when suddenly, a single rat climbed up desperately, scrambling over his brothers and leaping free of the cage. In a panic, the students screamed and jumped up onto chairs, but Tavros ran towards the rat, chasing it around the classroom until he finally caught it, dashing for the door with the wriggling creature safe in his hands.

In the middle of class, the halls were empty, so Tavros relaxed a little when he closed the door behind him. It was quieter, and without Jade whispering about him, his stomach settled a little, so he checked on the rat and started towards the stairwell. There was a fairly large window there with a ledge about two feet thick. If he climbed on the railing and jumped, Tavros found he could scramble onto it.

For anyone agile enough to get to it, the ledge made a perfect hiding spot, but as far as Tavros knew, he was the only one who used it, so he zipped the rat in his jacket pocket and began to climb. Once up, Tavros shrugged off his backpack and reached for his lunch box, pulling out a sleeve of buttery crackers before unzipping his pocket. "You hungry, little guy?" Tavros asked, offering the rat a cracker. He was delighted when his offering was accepted. "You were, um, really brave back there," Tavros continued. "You remind me a lot of someone else who was really brave… A guy from this, this uh, cool movie I've seen."

The rat finished off the cracker, then crawled straight into the sleeve for another. Tavros laughed a little. "I think you need a name," He told him. "I hope you dint mind me naming you after him, the guy from the movie I mean. Rufioh is a good name, don't you think?"

There was of course no real response, but Tavros still smiled and let his new friend have his fill of crackers, stroking his soft fur as he ate. Tavros found it strangely comforting to talk to a rat, a small, helpless creature who wouldn't judge him. Plus, Rufioh had such an admirable trait. "I wish I had courage like you," Tavros said. "Or like my Dad does. You'll like him a lot, I promise, He's so strong and nice… A-and he tells really, um he tells cool stories all the time."

Simon's stories always filled Tavros with a sense of wonder, and a touch of envy. He wished he could stand up to fear like the heroes did, and though Simon had told him that The Summoner and his friends weren't real, just characters from his imagination, the tales of their deeds really made Tavros want to be a better person. He wanted to be stronger, more confident, and full of courage like them.

Interrupting his daydreams, the shrill ringing of the bell rattled his skull and he sighed wistfully, zipping Rufioh in his pocket again before gathering his things and dropping down from the window sill. As he walked to his next class, he fell into a complete trance, mentally absent as he let his body go through the motions of the day. He went through every period all wrapped up in a slurry of fantasies, imagining himself as a hero, like The Summoner, a real man confident enough to sweep Vriska Serket right off her feet. The thoughts were nice, but after being caught up in dreams all day, reality was like a slap in the face.

He suddenly found himself standing in the middle of the cafeteria, recalling how he had been waiting there for the better part of an hour, wondering if he had been wrong in the location. Maybe the paintball players were meeting elsewhere. Before he dared move, though, a large, red paintball gun was placed in his hands. He looked up and saw a wickedly smiling Vriska, a blue gun strapped across her back. Tavros swallowed hard and looked around again, seeing a hulking mass of students wandering behind Vriska, all bearing similar blue paintball guns. "So uh, do I have th-the… The red gun because I'm Capitan?"

Vriska laughed, flipping her hair back. "Um, _no,"_ She snickered. "you have a red gun, because you are on the _red team."_

Another look around revealed a lost looking bunch all fiddling with red guns. Tavros let out a small, scared sort of sound. "W-we're… We're not on the same t-team, then?"

"Not a chance!" Vriska laughed. "_I'm _Capitan of the blue team, and though I'm gonna win no matter what, it would have been a lot more fun to beat a man."

Leaving Tavros with minimal instructions, Vriska and her team huddled on the other side of the cafeteria, one by one finding places to duck, cover, and hide.

A little shaky, Tavros had his team suit up and told them all he knew, pointing out the dead zone at the top of the stairs, and the elimination zone in the kitchen area. He did his best to go over safety rules, but was met with rolling eyes and a groaning chorus of "Whatevers." The response didn't make his stomach feel any better, but it was too late anyway because just then, a loud whistle blew and Tavros heard Vriska shout" "Blue tea, _ready!_ Red team respond!"

All was silent for a spell before Tavros realized that was his cue. "Oh, um, red team is uh, ready too!"

_"Game on!"_

Ready or not, paintballs begun to fly, and Tavros was nearly hit in the first few seconds, but managed to block the shot just in time with the bulk of his gun. Alarmed and full of adrenaline, Tavros took off running, shooting at every flash of blue he saw. He was in a panic, honestly, the gun felt unnatural in his hands, and his aim wasn't worth his weight in dust. Still, he was pretty fast, which helped him avoid being hit himself.

He quickly realized that he wasn't going to impress anyone by just running around and hiding, so he tried to seek out members of the blue team, getting close enough to hit them without having to really aim. It worked maybe once, but he found himself retreating more often than not and went back to just firing erratically, hoping to maybe hit something, or at least stay alive. As he darted about, he noticed less and less red flying until he was almost sure no more would come. He checked his own gun and realized with a sinking feeling that he was out of ammunition. A ray of hope, however jogged his memory, reminding him of the dead zone, the safe zone, at the top of the stairs. There was extra gear up there if he could get to it.

Taking a deep breath, Tavros ran for the stairs, dodging what seemed like the paint from every gun on the blue team as he went. It was by some miracle that he actually made it. He hastily rushed towards the bins, seeing one filled with red paint cartridges, but in his haste, he slipped on the top stair, lurching forward until his shirt was pulled taut, caught on a loose screw on the railing. He tried to regain his balance, but leaned so far backwards that the world began to shift and spin. Then, he was gripped by the front of his shirt, and all went still.

His eyes got big as he stared up at Vriska, the only thing keeping him upright. His heart skipped a beat and he could feel the back of his neck breaking into a nervous sweat. She considered him as a spider would a juicy fly. "The last red player," She crooned, lightly skimming his neck with blue tipped fingernails. "The Capitan, still standing. I didn't think you'd make it this far, but take a guess, how many blue players do you think are left? Out of the twenty we started with."

Tavros could feel the edge of the step digging into the worn out soles of his trainers. He was teetering ever so slightly, a breath away from either safety, or a long way down. He thought about the vicious onslaught he had dodged to get where he was, but when he glanced down, there was no one to be seen. "Uh, s-seven?" He guessed.

"Eighteen," She corrected smugly. "Eighteen, against just one. It was too easy, really, your whole team was pathetic." Slowly, she leaned in, so close Tavros could smell her shampoo. Her dark blue eyes bore into his and she laughed, no doubt able to smell his fear. "You really didn't earn this…"

Instead of opening to question, Tavros found his mouth suddenly being smothered, the kisses from Vriska's making his heart jump into his throat. His whole frame shuddered and trembled, his face flaming red as a soft pair of lips pressed to his over and over. He was so shocked he could hardly breathe. When Vriska pulled back, he was dazed, head spinning as he tried to evaluate just how much of that he had imagined. "Wimp," Vriska murmured, letting go of his shirt and giving him a playful shove.

Jolted back into reality, Tavros gasped, the shove shaking the little bit of balance he had accumulated, causing him to cry out in panic, grabbing helplessly at the air before his shirt ultimately tore away from the loose screw, sending him plummeting backwards, hitting the stairs hard and skidding all the way down. The last thing he was aware of before blacking out was a piercing screem. He never learned where it came from.

((I hope you all enjoyed the first three chapters! The rest is in progress and i hope you all will continue on, and see how the story plays out! If you have any suggestions, questions, or constructive critisism, I'd be thrilled to hear it! Thanks!  
Angel Allen))


	4. Chapter 4

Gamzee felt the brush of soft fur against his cheek and he cracked one eye open, seeing a gray tail curl by his face. He sat up just enough to shoo the cat away, but the laid back down on the couch, closing his eyes and pressing his hands together. He was deep in thought, meditative, his breath measured and deep as he lulled himself into a sort of trance. He was unable to get Tavros out of his head, and he needed guidance. Tavros needed it, too. "Almighty messiahs," He prayed. "My dearest of brothers is in need of your miracles. He's afraid, I know he is, but I don't know how to help him. Show him how to reach the brave that is up inside of him, not a brother on the earth can find that on their own."

Out of the blue, a high pitched ringing interrupted the jugallo's prayers. Sniffing, Gamzee opened his eyes and rolled off of the couch, scooping up his gray and white cat on the way to the kitchen. "Bozo, my furry little motherfucker, why didn't you tell me my snacks were all up and ready to be snacked upon?"

Bozo lazily blinked his eyes and curled his tail, making Gamzee smile as he padded onto the tile floor of his kitchen. The smell of chocolates and pie filled the air when he opened the oven, and Gamzee set his pet aside in favor of a pair of oven mitts. With an eager smile he pulled out a tray of brownies and a fat apple pie. Still piping hot, the snacks were set to cool, but despite the feast of them Gamzee had consumed just hours prior, he couldn't stop eyeing the tray of stardust brownies he had made. The pie was just a really delicious pie, but the brownies were filled with a potent stardust. The special dust fueled Gamzee's highs, keeping him close to his faith. It was what separated juggalos from normal people, it made them noticeable to the white king, and his mischievous bride the black queen. They were the messiahs who granted miracles, after all, they couldn't be called upon by just anyone.

Though Gamzee's salivating over the brownies had a lot to do with the moist chocolate that would just _melt_ on his tongue, it had more to do with the special stardust. His earlier high was all but worn off, and he wanted to keep praying, because he needed a miracle for Tavros. He noticed though that it was getting late in the afternoon, and remembered about Vriska's paintball match. It must have been over by that point, and Tavros had promised to call, but so far his phone had been silent all day. Gamzee almost frowned, but then he remembered his pie. He hadn't made it for any real reason, so he decided he would take it to the school. He and Tavros could have a picnic or something in his car, they could eat, and Tavros could talk about his feelings, it would be good for them both.

With a pastry box from work, Gamzee packed up the pie, slipped on some shoes, and left his flat, jogging out to his car. With the pie safely in the passenger seat, Gamzee started the engine and pulled away from the curb, heading towards the school. Gamzee couldn't wait to eat pie with Tavros, seeing him happy would calm the juggalos nerves. That boy was the center of Gamzee's whole world, he needed to be okay.

He was almost to the school when a loud screech made him look around. Sirens were blaring a red and blue lights flashed, warning Gamzee to pull over and let them pass. The ambulance zipped by Gamzee's little car with no trouble, and he was about to turn into the school when he noticed that the ambulance had taken the turn first. Worry twisted his guts and he gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles went white. He slammed on the gas and tailed the ambulance all the way to the school, throwing open his door without even turning off the engine, knocking the pie out of the car and onto the pavement in his haste to get out of the car. He didn't even stay long enough to close his door, he just ran, frantically searching his surroundings with a growing sense of dread. Kids were running around all over the place, crying and confused, some even cowering from the stern voices of their administrators, but Gamzee couldn't care less about the lot of them because no matter how hard he looked, the one face he ached to see wasn't there.

Desperate, Gamzee shoved past the pass of people, bursting through the familiar front doors and sprinting for the cafeteria. He skidded to a stop behind a circle of medics, and when he shoved past them, his face went pale beneath his clown makeup. Bruised and bloody, and broken, Tavros was laying still on the tile floor. He ignored the people, and he ignored the paint all over the floor, fighting the hands that tried to pull him away until he was on his knees by Tavros' side. "No," He choked, dragging his unmoving friend into his arms. "Tav no, open your eyes man, tell me you're okay."

Nothing happened and Gamzee drew in a shuddering breath, laying his head on Tavros' chest, needing to hear a heartbeat, needing to feel him breathing. He clung so tight no one dared try to pull him away again. The medics stayed carefully back. "Kid," One said slowly, taking a step forward. "Kid, we have to get your friend to the hospital. We don't know what's wrong with him yet and if you move him around too much, you could severely damage him."

Gamzee gripped Tavros' shirt in his fists, feeling the tear and swallowing hard. He didn't even look up.

"You don't have to leave him," The man continued gently. "Just let us get him into the ambulance, you can even ride along."

It took a lot of persuading, but eventually, Gamzee backed off enough for them to load Tavros onto a stretcher, and ultimately, the ambulance. He was a mess the whole ride, staring at Tavros' broken body, watching as a nurse dabbed at wounds and taped up what she could. Seeing Tavros broken made Gamzee feel broken, and it killed him that he couldn't do anything. He was forced to simply watch as he was strapped to the stretcher, staring, agonized as they braced, buckled, and bandaged him beyond recognition. Gamzee could hear voices directed at him, but he ignored them, torturing himself with worry. He longed for answers; no one would tell him what happened. He couldn't shake the feeling that it was his fault. If he had only been able to convince Tavros to stay home, if he had only trusted his gut, things could have been different. "Honey, can you hear me?"

A delicate hand touched Gamzee's bicep and he jerked away and stared at the nurse, his gaze unstable. She gave him a sympathetic look. "Are you two related?" She repeated herself, kindness and patience in her tone. "Brothers maybe?"

Gamzee slowly shook his head. "Close friends?" she asked. When Gamzee nodded yes, she handed him a phone. "Would you know how to get a hold of his parents, by any chance?"

Cautiously, though Gamzee wasn't sure what he was afraid of, he took the phone in his shaking hand, dialing Simon's number. The phone rang seven times before the man finally picked up the phone. The whirring of power tools and the rattling of faulty transitions sounded in the background, but Gamzee didn't wait for so much as a 'Hello.' "Tavros is hurt," He said, voice tight and strained. "Real bad."

The line went dead, and on the other end of the call Simon set down the drill he had been working with to grip the phone with both hands, eyes widening with alarm. Never had he heard Gamzee's voice sound so uneasy, Gamzee was usually so mellow and so optimistic, it just wasn't like him. If Gamzee was acting that way, Tavros must have been in pretty bad shape. Quickly pocketing his phone, Simon bolted for the parking lot, jumping into his truck and slamming his foot down on the gas, ignoring the shouts from his co-workers as he went. Simon couldn't imagine what sort of horrific accident could have gotten Gamzee to sound that way. Sure, Tavros was clumsy, he sprained and twisted everything humanly possible over the course of his childhood, and Gamzee had been there through it all, but never had the clown reacted in such a frightening way. Something was seriously wrong. He sped the entire way to the hospital, parking haphazardly along the curb before running inside. He was panting by the time he reached the front desk. "Tavros Nitram," He said urgently, leaning his elbows on the counter. "Has Tavros Nitram been admitted here today?"

The man working the counter gave him a bored look, shuffling some worthless papers and taking his sweet time to respond. "We cannot release that information, sir, I'm afraid you're just going to have to-"

"I'm his _father,"_ Simon snapped, banging his fist on the desk. "Tell me where the _hell_ my kid is or there will _be _hell!"

The shouting drew the attention of everyone in the lobby and the secretary cowered under Simon's menacing glare, scrambling with his keyboard and mouse until finally stuttering out a room number. Simon shoved past before he could give directions, quickly finding his way on his own. Soon a familiar, honking scream caught his attention and he turned his head, seeing Gamzee thrashing about in a panic, restrained by four male nurses. "They won't let me in," He choked, voice broken with fear and desperation. _"The motherfuckers_ _won't let me stay with Tavros!"_

"Son," A nurse said gently. "Unless you are in Mr. Nitram's immediate family, you don't have the right to -"

_"Like hell I don't!"_

Gamzee began to fight harder, and in a panic, a nurse pressed a security button, calling two hulking men to the hall in seconds to haul the lanky teen away. "Keep still," One barked.

"Make sure he's okay," Gamzee begged, locking eyes with Simon as he was dragged away._ "Please,_ I need to know he's okay."

Panic clawed at Simon's chest as Gamzee was taken away. Gamzee _never panicked._ Nodding sharply, the man rushed into the hospital room, throwing open the curtain. He was ready to punch anyone who dared question his rights as a father, but suddenly, everything was startlingly quiet. They kayos outside was nothing compared to the gripping silence, only broken by the slow, haunting beeps of machines, all hooked up to an unconscious, banged up and broken Tavros. He was connected to tubes, drips, and monitors, the only movement a result of his shallow breathing. Simon's throat closed up and he clenched his jaw, eyes stinging when a doctor crept her way into the room. She stood silently for a very long time, giving the man a moment, but Simon couldn't take it. "Give it to me straight," He said, voice thick, but controlled. "Tell me what happened to my kid."

"He participated in some sort of unlawful paintball match in his school cafeteria," She explained, meeting Simon's eyes. "He was all suited up when they found him at the bottom of the stairs, so we know he played, but no other students were around the site of the accident so we're assuming he fell." She flipped a few pages on her clip board before continuing. "Tavros has a broken rib, a multiple scratches and wounds, both major and minor, bruises galore and a concussion, and those were all bandaged and treated and will heal completely with time."

Simon glanced from her, to his son, then back with a nervous swallow. "But…?"

"Your child also fractured four of his vertebrae, and dislocated three others. During the fall, bone fragments from the fractures pinched and jabbed at his spinal cord, causing what looks like some severe paralysis."

Shock gripped Simon by the throat and he fell into a chair, unable to speak as he thought of his little boy unable to ever walk, run, or play again. The doctor approached him slowly, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Now we can operate to replace the dislocations, and after that he will heal from the hips and up, but his legs took the brute of the damage as he fell, and I'm afraid he'll have to use a wheel chair from now on."

"So he had _no_ chance of ever walking again?"

"I wouldn't say that," She amended herself, checking the charts again. "With various levels of therapy there is a slim chance, but it isn't wise to get his hopes up. You understand, don't you?"

Simon looked down at the ground, closing his eyes and rubbing at his temples, picturing a little ten year old Tavros running around in the grass, playing soccer with him and Gamzee on a summer afternoon. He thought of the hours of time he spent teaching them both to climb trees and jump from branches. His throat tightened up and he swallowed hard, giving a sharp nod. He signed for them to proceed with the operation and dragged his feet back to the lobby. He wished he could have gone into surgery and held Tavros in his arms. The boy was practically grown, but Simon would always see him as his little punk, pure hearted, kind, and gentle, always up for a cuddle with his old man. His heart broke a little more every minute he waited, he was sick to his stomach with worry because without that little boy, he'd be completely alone.


	5. Chapter 5

The first thing Tavros could feel was weight. There was a thick, heavy force holding him down and smothering his entire body. He struggled, but the force was so oppressing it was as if he would need the strength of a god just to lift a finger. His throat grew hot and tight, a lot like he was going to cry, and with a tremendous effort, he swallowed and fought harder. A tingle tickled hit forehead, something was making his face itch. His fingers twitched and his head slightly shifted, fueled by the longing to scratch. Tavros continued to flex and shift, pushing against the weight until he could move his arms, head, and back almost freely. But still he was uncomfortable, because he couldn't seem to shift his legs, or anything below his waist for that matter. He attempted countless times to lift a leg, or even just wiggle his toes, but despite his greatest efforts the oppressing weight did not lift. His lower half was forced into stillness.

Tavros' eyes snapped open and suddenly he felt blinded, startlingly while walls reflecting an overwhelmingly bright light. His breaths quickened with panic as he frantically searched his unfamiliar surroundings. Erratic beeping filled his ears and when he sat up, the world spun around un a dizzy blur of white. He was terrified, he had no idea where he was or why his mind was in such a fog, but he remembered pain and he remembered a scream. Also, he remembered her. "Vriska," He screamed, the beeping picking up its pace. "V-Vriska? _Vriska! A-anybody?"_

The high pitched rattling of a curtain being thrown open drew his attention just as Simon burst into the glaring room of white. He rushed to Tavros' side, tucking the stiff blankets tight around him and patting him all over, voice soothing, but worried. Tavros could hear the stress in every syllable spoken, and he was scared. Where was he? What was making his father, the strongest man he knew, panic? He tried desperately to crawl into the protection of the man's arms, but not only was he attached to wires and machines, his legs also refused to obey his commands. The worst part was he could see Simon rubbing and patting his knee, but he couldn't feel a thing. "D-Dad?" He asked, alarmed. "Dad, Dad I can't… My… Th-they won't…"

"Shh, buddy calm down," Simon whispered. "I know."

He stared up at his father, shaking. "What?"

"You took a spill down some stairs, Tav," Simon said with tired, worried eyes.

Breathing heavy and panicked, Tavros ran a hand through his Mohawk, eyes widening as the puzzle pieced itself together in his head. Slowly he remembered the paintball, the loose screw, and that kiss. The memory made him want to shiver, but then he recalled something else, a rough shove. After the shove had come the scream, and then… "Oh God," He choked, head reeling as he remembered tumbling helplessly down, powerless and broken, blacking out before he could even reach the floor. He felt like he was going to be sick.

Simon gripped Tavros by the shoulder and looked him in the eyes. "You just got out of some major surgery buddy," The man said gently. "They fixed up a lot of damage, the doctors did an amazing job really, but there will be… Changes."

Tavros saw squeeze his knew, and when he again felt nothing, his chest grew tight and he sucked in a shuddering breath. Understanding hit him like a punch to the gut and he crumbled, tears pouring down his face. He clung to his father and sobbed, unable to control th shaking of his scrawny body. He knew without asking that the feeling in his legs wasn't coming back. The sudden loss was overwhelming, Tavros had never really thought about his legs before. He hadn't realized how much he depended on them, but as he cried in his father's arms he was painfully aware of all of the things he'd never get to do.

Ultimately, the pain medicine dripping through his IV took its tool and dragged him back into nothingness. He was vaguely aware of voices, sounds, and movements. Simon must have carried him at one point or more, he recalled the roar of the man's truck, and the sound of their creaking front steps, but only the click of his bedroom door truly woke him, and he turned his head towards Simon's chest, squeezing his eyes closed tighter. He felt his throat grow hot and tight when he was set in bed and tucked in, wishing he could just go back to sleep and remain that way always. He heard Simon shut the door, and slowly, he cracked open just one eye.

An ugly heap of gleaming metal stared back at him and he glared. A wheelchair, bulky, black, and brand new, had been placed in his bedroom. There was a note attached intending to encourage him to give it a try, but he couldn't even scrape up the will to read it. He rolled over as best he could with only his torso, hoping the monster would be gone before he turned again. There was nothing he liked about it; it was everything he wished it wouldn't be. Bitterly he wondered what words Vriska would use to make fun of it. He wanted to know just what unfunny jokes she'd toss in his face, because he already knew they'd cut like a knives. Staring up at the ceiling he saw her, the almond shaped eyes that seared through his, and those blue painted lips that had felt aggressive against his own, and yet so soft. Before he knew it tears were streaming down his face again and he slammed his fist against the bed in frustration. Tavros was hurting physically, mentally, and emotionally, and he was angry. What had her motive been? Had she wanted to kill him? Why else would she have tempted him so sweetly just to literally push him down again? Vriska had broken him body _and_ heart and as he drew in a shuddering breath, he wondered if either would ever recover. Swallowing back a sob he dragged a pillow close to his chest, burying his face in it and crying until he just couldn't anymore. It must have been late, and he was still so exhausted.

Soon he was asleep, resting dreamlessly until a ray of sun shone, muted and streaming through his curtains, tinting the tiny dust particles within its reach a dull red. He forced his eyes open and groggily wet his lips, mouth and throat horribly dry. He felt awful in every way. His injuries ached, his eyes were dry and every time he blinked it was like his lids had been filled with sand. Whenever he took a breath his throat felt even more like a parched desert plane. He didn't even want to think about the way he was feeling on the inside. He decided that if nothing else, a drink of water was worth moving for, so he sat up and slowly inched his way towards the edge of his bed. He rubbed his itchy eyes and stared at the wheelchair numbly, reaching out and batting sleepily at the handles in an attempt to drag himself closer. When that was accomplished, Tavros tried to scoot his way into the chair, but his entire lower body was useless, his legs heavy and uncooperative logs. He groaned tiredly, not in the mood to wrestle just for a cup of water. Aggressively he gripped the handle with one hand and tried to push off of the bed with the other, intending to hold himself up until he could ease into the seat. Then, a sharp pain ripped through his arm and he howled in agony, falling from the bed and crashing to the floor, taking the new wheelchair down with him.

In seconds Simon burst in, throwing open the door and pushing the chair out of the way. Tears of pain, anger, and helplessness poured down his face and he clutched his arm to his chest, every breath trembling. "Tav, did you try to get into your chair by yourself?" Simon asked, fussing at Tavros, picking him up off of the floor. "Why didn't you call me? I would have helped you out, buddy."

"J-just go away," Tavros snapped, squirming against his father's hold. Never, in _all_ his life, had he felt so pathetic. "I just… I'm tired, I w-want to go b-back to sleep."

Simon looked hurt, Tavros had never snapped at him before, but he didn't argue. He laid Tavros back in bed. "Love you, Tavros," He said, but Tavros turned his head and didn't utter a sound.

He knew Simon didn't deserve to take the brute of his frustrations, the man only wanted to help, but Tavros didn't want to need the help. He hated not being able to get out of bed on his own, he felt weaker than ever, and for a long time, he refused to get out of bed at all. Eventually Simon would come in and force him up for water, the bathroom, and food, but unless he was practically peeled from his sheets, Tavros stayed put indefinitely. For weeks he did nothing but sleep and stare at walls. Simon would sometimes come in hoping to talk, but Tavros wouldn't so much as look at him, only the occasional tear giving away that he was even awake. Multiple times each day Tavros would hear his phone ring, but he'd never answer. The landline would ring shortly after and Simon would always announce that it was Gamzee who was calling. "He's your best friend," Simon had protested one day, fed up with his son being so unresponsive. "If you won't talk to me, then you can at least talk to him."

There was no reply.

"Dammit Tavros, he's _worried about you!"_

Nothing happened, and Simon threw down the phone, marching up to Tavros' bed and pulling off his blankets. He glared at his father, but Simon glared back. "This is ridiculous, Tavros," He said sternly. "I know you're hurting, and I know it's hard, nut you have _got_ to get out of your bedroom! It's been nearly a month, lying around and soaking in self pity will _not _get you walking again!"

Tavros' lower lip trembled and his glare just crumbled. When Simon reached for him, he reached back and clung to his Dad's shirt, finally just letting it all out. "Come on kid," Simon said, lifting him out of bed. "Let's get you back on track, huh?"

Tavros hiccupped pitifully, nodding, and for the first time, letting Simon lower him into his wheelchair. He sniffed and wiped at his eyes as Simon positioned his feet on the little foot rests, buckling them in so they didn't just dangle. The seat itself wasn't as uncomfortable as Tavros had imagined it would be, but sitting in it that way, knowing he had no way to stand taller, made Simon look suddenly huge, like Tavros was a little kid and he was the only thing in the world that could protect him from harm. His lip quivered again and Simon knelt down, laying a gentle, yet strong hand on his shoulder. "You can get through this, kiddo," He said. "I know you can."

Simon didn't make Tavros try to push his own wheels quite yet. He was thankful as Simon got behind him and gripped his handles, pushing him through their mercifully stair free home. They started out small, just rolling into the living room for some TV. They parked Tavros beside Simon's armchair, then Simon left him with the remote. "I'm gonna go make us something to eat, alright? Does macaroni sound cool?"

Tavros thought about warm cheese and noodles, giving a small, timid smile. "Yeah."

It was clear in Simon's face that simply hearing him speak was a huge relief, so Tavros made an effort to not worry his father any more than he already had. That night they watched generic sitcoms and ate warm pasta, and though Tavros needed the warmth and the change of scenery, he still felt sluggish, sore, and sad. Around eight Tavros looked depressed enough for Simon to call lights out early. With help, he changed into his pajamas then went off to bed, and he was asleep in minutes, relieved to be alone under the covers again.

When he woke the next day all was quiet in the house, but oddly enough, he was desperate to get out of bed. He was hungry, and he needed to distract himself, because in his sleep, he had thought of Vriska. The memory of her name alone made him want to cry, and he was in enough pain without adding dry, itchy eyes to the list. He started spending his days finding pointless tasks to occupy his time while Simon worked both jobs. He eventually learned to get in and out of his chair himself and change his pajamas. Everything he chose to do involved minimal effort and hardly any movement at all. Gamzee continued to text and call, but Tavros couldn't bring himself to answer. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to Gamzee, because it killed him not to, and he knew he was being a terrible friend, but he just couldn't face talking to anyone yet. He was embarrassed, and as he always did in situations he didn't understand, he longed for his mother. She died when he was small, but he remembered her vividly. She used to always know how to handle troubled men. Whenever Simon got down or depressed for whatever reason, all she had to do was look at him just right, or sing a little song and he would be on his toes in no time. Tavros couldn't help but wonder if she could get him on his toes again, both figuratively, and literally.

Desperate to claw his way out of the funk he was in, Tavros scooted out of bed one night, rolling through the empty house, not a sound to stir the air. He struggled to push himself forward, like the wheels weighed more than he did, but he eventually made it into the living room and he grabbed the remote, seeking out the little brown shoe box from the TV stand. The box contained every home video from Tav's childhood, and he spent hours watching through them all for the first time in years. One in particular he watched what seemed like a hundred times, it was a longer one, Simon had recorded Molly while she read Tavros the entire Peter Pan story book, singing all of the songs. He sometimes stared only at her through the flickering screen, remembering how pretty she was. Others times he'd close his eyes and just listen to the melodious quality of her voice, the story coming to live beneath his lids. At the end of the video, she told young Tavros of how she used to play Tinker Bell on stage, and his eyes would light up with wonder. She mentioned coyly, looking into the camera, that it was how she met his father, and from the other side of the lenses Simon gave a sarcastic laugh, and then verbally decide that movie time was over. The screen went blank after that. Tavros sniffled pathetically, tears spilling from his eyes. He missed her so much it hurt; he just wanted her to hug him and tell him he'd be okay.

He was such a wreck, when Simon came home from his shift at the diner, he didn't even hear. "Tavros," Simon said, alarmed and rushing to his side. "Tavros, what's wrong?"

_"E-everything,"_ He cried. "I, I _can't d-do this!_ I'm too p-pathetic to… to _move,_ and, and I'm _scared,_ and… I just want Mom back!"

Simon glanced over at the screen, sighed, and then sat down, slinging his arm over Tavros' shoulders. "I want her back too, sport. She always knew how to handle difficult situations. She'd know how to cheer you up better than I can any day."

One look and Tavros could tell Simon was hurting too. Molly had been the greatest love of Simon's whole life; she held his heart to that day from wherever she was. Without her the Nitram boys had just each other, and as she would have put it, they were both adorably stupid. "Maybe you just need a little normality," Simon said after a while, remembering all the times Molly made him keep up with routine even at the worst of times. "You've been cooped up for a month, you just need to get back into the swing of things."

Tearful and unsure, Tavros looked up. "How?"

"You need to get back to school, for one thing," Simon said sternly. "You've lost use of your legs, not your head. Plus, there are people out there who care about you getting seriously worried right about now."

He sniffed hard, another tear rolling down his face. "I miss Gamzee," He whimpered.

"I know you do buddy."

"Will uh, will you take me to… to see him?"

"Tavros it's two in the morning. You need rest."

"Tomorrow?"

Simon's eyes softened, and he smiled. "Only if you promise to drag your ass to school first thing after."

Tavros looked from his father, to the TV and back again. Simon was right. "Okay."


	6. Chapter 6

Earlier than he had since the accident, Tavros sat up in bed and blinked at the morning light. He wasn't feeling particularly well, the ribs he had broken still throbbed, his head ached, and anxiety churned his stomach. He knew in his head that it was silly to be nervous, he was visiting Gamzee, not Vriska, but after ignoring all of his calls Tavros couldn't help but wonder if Gamzee would be angry with him. He had been acting like a total jerk, and though paralysis was a pretty good reason to be upset, it was no excuse to completely shut out a loyal friend.

He probably should have called Gamzee then instead of just dropping by, but he didn't know what he would say. An apology like the one he owed Gamzee was too big to be presented over the phone. When he looked over at his wheelchair hate clutched at his heart, but he knew that the sooner he got used to it, the easier his life would become. He carefully peeled the covers away from his body and lifted up his legs, one at a time and by hand, dangling them over the edge of his bed, just above his chair. Using every bit of arm strength he had, Tavros gripped the wooden frame of his bed and held himself up, gently easing into the chair that way, depending on his upper body more than he ever had before in his life. He could see his legs having trouble just falling in place, and their weight nearly dragged him down, but eventually he got himself seated. With much less hassle unlocked his wheels, rolling into his bathroom and tugging off his clothes. He wasn't really looking forward to a shower; showers were more complicated than getting in and out of bed. Simon had to buy a special shower bench and bolt railings to the tile walls just to make it possible. When he was finished, he struggled to dry off inside the shower, wrestling his towel around his waist before easing back into his chair. He rubbed another towel through his Mohawk, then after looking in the mirror, combed it, trimmed it, and shaved. The extra efforts made him feel a little less pathetic, even if he had trouble reaching the far end of the counter and seeing his reflection.

After scrubbing his teeth clean, Tavros made his way back to his bed room and dressed on his own. He didn't really look at the clothes he picked out; he just wiggled into them with high hopes of avoiding injury. Thankfully, the injuries he already supported didn't put up too much fuss, so he handled it fairly quickly and was soon ready to go. When Simon saw gun the man's eyes softened, and he held open his arms. "C'mere, kiddo."

Tavros approached timidly, every push of his heavy wheels like a great feat of strength, and when he made it to his father he was met with a tight hug. Then, Simon knelt down and gripped the edge of Tavros' shirt, pulling something from the table by the door. It was a small sewing kit.

Looking down at the tear in his LARP shirt, even as his father started to sew, brought back painful memories and he sucked in a shaky breath and held it in, trying to keep his head. It was just a shirt, just a little rip at the seam, and Simon was mending it without trouble, but it snagging on that tiny screw had pushed him through the threshold of disaster, and Vriska had locked the door. "I-I don't… I j-just, don't bother Dad…"

Simon frowned. He mended things for Tavros all the time. "What?"

"The shirt," He mumbled. "It's… N-never mind, I just want… I want to change." Tavros stared to turn around, but Simon grabbed him by the shoulder, seeing the tear roll down his face. "What?"

"Wear it," Simon insisted. "It's lucky."

_"Lucky?"_ Tavros cried. "B-but, but I can't _walk! _This, It…. This shirt is _anything _but lucky!"

"You're alive," Said the man firmly. "That fall could have killed you, snapped your neck right off, but it didn't. So I say it's lucky."

Simon may have not handled things like molly used to, but he had a knack for putting things into perspective. Tavros kept the shirt on, sniffing and wiping his eyes as the stitching was tied off. The thread was then cut and they were off, but at the front door they were met with a small complication. "Um, Dad?"

Simon peeked outside and saw the problem at once. The front steps. "Oh."

Feeling awful, Tavros rolled back and headed for the side door. There were no stairs there, but the bump between inside and out still jostled Tavros enough to cause his soreness to flair. "Ow," He mumbled.

"We're gonna have to build you a ramp, huh sport?" Simon said as he rolled Tavros around the house and towards the driveway. "For the car, too."

Tavros was extremely uncomfortable with it, but he had no choice but to let Simon lift him out of his chair and into the passenger seat of the truck. The man assured him that it would be temporary, and they'd get a ramp soon, but Tavros could hear the strain and hesitation in his father's voice and couldn't help but wonder how many shifts he'd have to pick up to afford all of these things. The car grew silent as they pulled onto the road, and Simon clearly hated it.

Silence was never his strong suit, and he found himself glancing at Tavros as often as he glanced at his mirrors. The kid looked tired, bruised, and depressed. It broke Simon's heart. As a father, all he really wanted was for Tavros to be okay. "How about a story?" He offered, attempting to lighten the mood. "The Ancestors always cheer you up."

Stories to The Ancestors may have been just fiction to Tavros, but they were Simon's way of sharing his youth with his son without putting him at risk. As he had hoped, Tavros' face brightened a little. "One about the Summoner?"

A smile tugged at the corner of Simon's mouth. "Sure kid," He agreed, pawing mentally through stories he hadn't told yet. "Let's see now… The Ancestors liked to go looking for trouble. They hunted for injustice to set right, but once, the Signless got caught on the wrong side of the tracks.

"It wasn't that he did anything wrong, because he didn't, not at all. He was trying to stop another gang from performing some gruesome initiation ritual on some poor new member. The Ancestors weren't exactly sure that the ritual was, but there had been whispers of self-mutilation, human sacrifices, and purging of the lowly. All of that infuriated The Signless beyond human comprehension. But Instead of collecting information and returning to the others, he got captured. They began to worry, especially The Summoner. The Grand Highblood attempted to calm him, they were supposed to stand and wait for a signal, but the Summoner couldn't stand it, so he charged right into the other gang's lair."

"He… He uh, wasn't afraid?" Tavros asked.

Thinking back, Simon almost laughed. "He was terrified. The punk was literally shaking in his boots, but you know what?"

"What?"

"His friend needed him, and he knew it," Simon said. "He understood then that some things were more important than being afraid, so he went for it." Tavros looked entranced, so Simon continued. "His fears were confirmed of course, there was a fight waiting for him right at the door, and he had to think quickly. He was out-numbered by at least four guys, and The Signless was chained by his wrists at the other end of the room, screaming abuse at his captors. They weren't taking it well though, and some were even shooting at him. The point was, The Summoner didn't have a lot of time, so when he was charged at, he simply charged back. He ran right through the danger like a bull, grabbed The Signless, shooting the shackles that held him with two pistols he always had hidden in his vest. And here's the good part," Simon said, winking. "With The Signless on his back, The Summoner ran for the exit, jumped onto the back of an enemy and sprang forward, practically flying them to safety."

Simon had howled with victorious laughter as Silas screamed with terror, there was really nothing like flying, and when Grant saw them he ran to catch them both, but instead they all three just tumbled to the ground. Even Silas had laughed despite his fright and smiled at Grant. The light hearted bear of a man had thrown both Silas _and_ Simon over his shoulders, and after returning to safety, the three of them had a carefree night together. "He truly believed, at times, that he had wings," Simon said wistfully.

Tavros had a look of awe and admiration, tinted with a bit of longing. The way Tavros viewed The Summoner as his hero made Simon's heart swell with pride. His little boy admired him, even if he didn't realize it himself. Simon wished he could share everything with Tavros, show him that his fantasies were real, but with knowledge came responsibility and danger, and he just didn't want to put that on Tav's shoulders. "We're here," He said eventually, parking in front of Gamzee's flat. "Ready to unload?"

Though he nodded, Tavros made no move to unbuckle his seatbelt. "Dad?" He asked after a moment's hesitation.

"Yeah, sport?"

Leaning over as far as he could, Tavros squeezed Simon around the waist, burying his head against his father's chest. "I'm sorry, Dad," He whispered.

Hugging his kid tight, Simon smiled. "No need to be," He replied. When they parted Simon helped Tavros out of the car and set him in his chair, wheeling him off of the road. "Now go have fun, spend the night, you need a solid day to catch up."

After another hug and a nod, Tavros was gone and Simon sighed, getting back behind the wheel and pulling out, still thinking about Grant and himself from the old days. Though Gamzee was not at all aggressive or burly like his father had been, Gamzee had that same playful drawl, that same laid back sense of humor, and that same ditzy affection. They truly were similar, especially in their devotion to their cultish religion. The difference was Gamzee prayed for the happiness of his loved ones; Grant on the other hand, was selfish. It was his greatest flaw. Simon didn't know too much about the Juggalo beliefs, but he knew a little. The two messiahs, the white king and the black queen, granted miracles. Depending on your intentions, one or the other takes notice. If your intentions were pure and good, the white king would give you what you needed, but maybe not in the way you wanted, not without a price. If your intentions were selfish, the black queen would grant your desires, but in a way that would destroy you and hurt everyone you care about. That, Simon thought, must have been the reason for Grant's downfall, and it worried him.

He missed the time when Grant had been a gentle giant, he didn't hate Grant, he hated who the Grand Highblood had become. He _missed _Grant. Back when they were close, they ruled they ruled the world with Silas by their side. At the mechanics shop, he spent hours reminiscing over the old days. His co-workers could tell he was deep in thought, even as he was tuning up a beautiful motorcycle he continued to compare Grant with his son, worried for Tavros and for Gamzee himself. It got to the point where Simon thought he was hallucinating, seeing what looked like a young Grant chasing around an even younger version of himself in the distance. But as Simon set the finished bike upright, he squinted and realized that he wasn't actually imagining it. In an inactive construction site just beyond the road, a young follower of The Grand Highblood caught and thwacked a young follower of The Summoner on the back of the head with a small, colorful club.

Simon saw his follower collapse, struggling, and was filled with an all-consuming rage. His vision was tinged red, his heart was pumping and he just knew he had to act. No way in hell he would let his own loyal follower take a pounding right under his nose.

Pulse thudding in his ears, Simon swung his leg over the motorcycle and revved the engine, kicking off of the ground and speeding across the road. His heart beat so loudly he could hardly hear his co-workers shouting at him, and even if he could hear, he knew he wouldn't have cared. He rode the bike as fast as it would go, straight for the crazed young Juggalo. The clown didn't seem afraid. He planted his feet firmly on the ground and smiled a frightening smile. Simon gripped the bike handles tighter. If the Juggalo stood his ground, he'd surly get hit. If Simon hit him though, they'd both be hurt. _"Look out!" _Cried the young Summoner.

Simon heard, but he kept going. He knew what he was doing. He accelerated, and just seconds away from a head on collision Simon stood on the footholds and jumped straight up into the air. In that moment, time slowed down. Simon, The Summoner, was flying again, and the young highblood's face went from vicious to horrified, just before the motor bike hit him at full speed. When Simon landed, he felt younger, stronger, and faster than he had in years, and the expression on his follower's face showed that he must have looked just as legendary, if not more legendary than he felt. "You," The kid breathed, knowing in his heart who he was looking at. "You… you're The Summoner! _The real Summoner!_ You're alive!"

Straightening his spine and standing tall, Simon felt a grin spread across his face. "I am now," He said, offering his hand. "What's your name, kid?"

"A-Austin, sir," He stammered, taking the hand.

Simon tugged him to his feet and nearly laughed. Sir. After that, how could he resist? "Alright, Austin. I've got a lot of catching up to do."

In a flash Simon took off running, hopping into his truck and pushing the engine past its limits to get home. He burst through the front door and stumbled into his room, drunk with excitement. In seconds every article of clothing in his closet was strewn across the floor, reviling an aged Lamborghini poster. Eagerly he tore it down, tossing the shreds behind him and pressing his hands to the dusty glass case that had been hiding there for years. He swallowed against his suddenly erratic heart beat and popped the case open, staring up at his costume just as the flickering lights began to illuminate it. The worn out black muscle shirt looked just like it had the day he locked it away, the Taurus symbol practically glowing in the center, half hidden by the vest. His black jeans with the glowing red rips, his lace up boots, and his bike helmet with the bull horns all called to him, but what really made him want to moan was his leather jacket. The sturdy, protective, jacket with the shimmering orange wings spread wide across the back.

Filled with a sudden burst of youthful adrenaline, Simon tore the costume from the stand and suited up, flexing and shifting, amazed that everything still fit. With a howl of excitement, Simon hit the streets again around dusk, meeting up with that Austin kid again. He was lead to the old gang hide out, and though Simon couldn't have forgotten the place if he had tried, it wasn't at all like he remembered. Instead of empty and rotting like the old barn had been when he used it, it was completely remodeled, expanded, and innovated. Tunnels had been dug out underground and finished off, leading to whole new rooms, all top secret and completely modernized. There were kitchens, bathrooms, dorms and living areas, computers, weapons, ammunition, and surplus of vehicles, all decked out with the colors of their gang: brown, orange, and red. To say the least Simon was impressed, and when he was greeted by dozens of enthusiastic followers, he felt even more like the legend he had become.

Throughout the night, Simon caught up with all things gang related. He helped pinpoint highblood hide outs, he approved stake outs and high dollar raids. Everything he said was like law and he was treated like a beloved king, but he worked like a solider, getting in on all of the action he could. Around two in the morning he and a small group of fighters stopped a huge drug deal, and when Simon wielded his infamous lance for the first time in forever, a dozen tiny highbloods ran for their lives, terror plain as day on their painted faces. Without even an attempt at challenging The Summoner, they dropped their wears and booked it. Simon hoped they'd spread the word. The Summoner lived on.

Back at their own headquarters, Simon doled out the loot between all of the kids that had accompanied him on the raid, but all four insisted he keep every dime. They called it a welcome back gift, and when Simon humbly accepted, he was met with a thunderous applause.

Flattered and proud, Simon told the punks to call it a night around four, and he took a bike from the lot, strapping his loot to the back and motoring home. When he undressed and settled in bed, he didn't even think about the fact that he blew off the shop_ and _the diner. He was too busy gawking at just how much he earned on his very first night back. It was more than he made in a year. His head spun dizzily and suddenly his phone rang, startling him senseless but when he saw Tavros' picture flash on his screen he smiled, clicking the talk button at once and pressing the phone eagerly to his ear. "Hello?" He said enthusiastically.

"Um, hi," Tavros said slowly. "Are uh, are you okay? I… I want expecting you to like, um, pick up."

"Oh yeah I'm great," He replied, laughing. He was fantastic, with all he made in just one night; every stress seemed to float off of his shoulders. "You doing any better little buddy? Hope so, cause I'm getting you a present for when you come home. What's up?"

"I… Uh, all I want t-to say was… Um, goodnight Dad."

"Night kiddo," He said, grinning as put his phone away. Tavros could be such a cute little punk with that stuttering way of speaking, it made him want to just spoil him rotten, reassure him that whatever words he tripped on were just as special as the ones he didn't. He loved his son more than anything and though he had sworn to himself when Tavros was born that he would be done with the mafia forever, he realized then that having a mafia salary could do nothing but help the kid. It would pay for his doctors, his ramps, the railings in his shower, it would by him good food to feed his ever hungry teenage stomach and give him the confidence to go out with his friends, not worried about whether he'd be able to afford it or not. Even as he hid the money and tucked himself in bed, he was grinning. Austin's words still echoed in his head as he drifted to sleep.

_"You're alive!"_


	7. Chapter 7

Rolling up to Gamzee's flat alone was one of that scariest things Tavros had ever had to do, and it took all he had to knock on the door, but when Gamzee answered all his anxiety seemed to melt away. He looked up at the stunned clown and smiled, feeling the expression and the joy behind it build up in his heart. "Gamzee!"

Gamzee dropped to his knees and lurched forward to bury his head in Tavros' shirt, smiling and nuzzling like an affectionate kitten. "Mirthful miracles, what a thrill it is to see you alive and smiling my way!"

"I uh, I missed you," Tavros said, sheepishly hugging Gamzee's head, feeling affection swell in his chest. "I should have come… sooner."

"Don't you sweat it, my dear brother," Gamzee replied, standing. "Let me just push you and this glorious chair down these little baby stairs, cool?"

Tavros looked nervously at the small flight. There were only seven steps, but his stomach turned uneasily until suddenly, he felt an extra weight on the back of his chair. "Um, Gamzee?"

"Yeah, bro?"

"What are you doing on my, uh, why are you on the back of my wheelchair?"

Gamzee grinned. "Hitching a motherfucking ride."

Before Tavros could protest Gamzee pushed off the wall and they sped down all seven steps in a flash. Tavros covered his eyes and sucked in a breath, prepared to scream, but was surprised into silence when Gamzee hopped off, just quick enough to plant his feet on the last step. The stopped suddenly, but smoothly. "O-oh," He breathed.

"Hang tight now, alright?" Gamzee said, rolling Tavros right by the couch. "I've got a something to all up and bring to you, man."

Tavros waited patiently and when Gamzee returned with a small, colorful cage, his face lit up. "Rufioh!" He pulled the rat from the bed of shredded paper and cuddled him close. "I, he's just, uh, h-how did you find him?"

"The little bro all up and escaped from your pocket and hit in the motherfucking school. When the motherfuckers at the hospital told me to find a fresh zone to chill went back for him."

Though Gamzee's tone was casually drugged as always, Tavros saw a touch of unease in the way he held his face. "They made you leave?"

"I was too motherfucking worried for your life, my brother," He said seriously. "My control up and left my soul, motherfucker. My mojo was bad, not good for a zone of healing, but you're okay now, so I am too."

Tavros felt his throat close up again. "B-but I'm… I'm _not _okay. I'm stuck, and… my legs, I mean, I c-can't even… do anything." He said the last words very softly, and a tear escaped his eye, but Gamzee brushed it away. Tavros looked up at him.

"Come on brother," He murmured gently. "I've got a potion that'll all up and cure your blues I'm sure."

The potion turned out to be a case of old disney movies on VHS. They spent the day with a giant bowl of popcorn and a VCR. When Gamzee slung an arm around his shoulders, Tavros was relieved. Their friendship was unharmed and with Gamzee, buttery snacks, and hours upon hours of disney magic, he really began to feel better. As was the usual at their sleepovers, Tavros and Gamzee shared covers in the juggalo's massive bed. Gamzee helped Tavros up then crawled in beside him with a dopey smile. Tavros' returning smile was timid, but real, and he laid back against Gamzee while he pulled out his phone to wish Simon goodnight. It was around midnight, and Tavros knew that the man was still working the diner at that time, but he dialed anyway, intending to leave a voicemail. Hearing an energized "hello?" Came as a big surprise, and when Gamzee regestered the stunned expression on his face, he recived a comforting pat, helping him to shake of the initial shock or hearing his father's voice so upbeat and happy at such an hour. When he hung up, Gamzee asked him if something was wrong, but he bruished it off. There shouldn't have been anything so suspicious about his father beeing in a good mood. Trying not to think to hard on it, Tavros pulled the covers up to his chin and went to sleep. When he woke the next morning he was extremely warm, and when he opened his eyes he saw the faygo logo of Gamzee's tee shirt mere inches from his face. A strong pair of arms held him in a tight embrace, and when he breathed in, the smell of baked goods and face paint filled his nose. He blushed at being held so close, but he neither protested, nor attempted to wake his sleeping friend.

He didn't really mind being held, in fact, it felt amazing, but he didn't quite know how to handle it. It was only when he remembered his promise to return to school that he panicked, urgently prodding Gamzee's ribs. The ticklish Juggalo snickered in his sleep and shifted a big, but Tavros had to repeatedly pat his face to actually wake him. When Gamzee did open his eyes Tavros almost gasped, realizing just how close they really were. He could see every one of Gamzee's features, face clean on all paint, in stunning clarity. Gamzee's indigo eyes seemed to capture him, getting slowly larger, no, _closer_, until Tavros just couldn't take his frantically beating heart. "Uh…" He stammered, backing up a little. "U-uh, I um, have… I mean my Dad, or, I p-promised to uh, go to… school today."

Gamzee blinked out of his fog and glanced groggily around. "Breakfast," He mumbled, rubbing his eyes. Stretching, he rolled out of bed, then came around to help Tavros into his chair. While Gamzee cooked, Tavros struggled into fresh clothes, pulling from the stash he kept in Gamzee's closet. He was always leaving his stuff around, but Gamzee didn't seem to mind so neither of them ever bothered to correct the issue.

After dressing, Tavros entered the kitchen to find Gamzee, an apron over his pajamas, eating from a steaming pie tin with one hand, while wrapping a bundle of brownies in the other. Gamzee, was ambidextrous. "Is uh that… are those… um, brownies for me?"

"You bet," Gamzee drawled through his mouthful. The pie was clearly still very hot, it was a wonder the clown didn't burn his tongue, but the stoned expression on his face told Tavros that whatever was in that pie made it totally worth the pain. "Happy motherfucking breakfast time, my brother."

More enthusiastic than he had thought himself able, Tavros rolled into the kitchen to accept the warm bundle, inhaling that mouth watering aroma of warm, moist chocolate baked to perfection, completely from scratch. He snuck one out without disturbing the rest, and took a large bite. His teeth sank through as if it were warm butter and the treat crumbled, melting on his tongue and filling him with its warmth. "They're so good…" He murmured with a sheepish smile.

Simon at times worried that Gamzee would accidentally feed Tavros something with that special stardust in it, but Tavros trusted that Gamzee always double checked which batches were drugged, or blessed as he liked to call them. He always let Tavros decide which version he wanted to eat. Gamzee smiled down at him. "Want a lift to the old zone of learning, motherfucker?"

Tavros nodded and allowed Gamzee to pile him into the car. On account of their lazy start, they arrived at the high school about two hours late, landing him in second period. Gamzee sent him off with a tight hug, promising to care for Rufioh and keep him out of Bozo's reach. They said goodbye, then Tavros was alone. What he hadn't thought of, through the stabbing fear, was how he was going to get up the stairs that led to the front door. He wound up having to circle all the way around the school twice, all by himself, until he finally found the only handicap entrance. It was steep and hard to roll on, he was fighting gravity the whole way up, but he managed, his arms a little sore as he continued down the mercifully flat, and empty halls. As he pushed himself along, he couldn't help but be weary of the eerie silence. There no noise. No voices, and no footsteps, not even his own. His well oiled chair glided along soundlessly.

When he got to class he gulped, reaching for the door handle that was so much higher up to him, with a violent tremor in his hand. The click of the handle and the creak of the hinges shattered the silence in the most nerve wracking way, followed by a series of murmurs and gasps, conversation bubbling throughout the class, nothing above a whisper. Tavros felt his stomach twist, and his head went dizzy. Every eye was on him. "Mr. Nitram," The teacher said, looking with interest at his chair. "I see you're… Back in class, then?"

Tavros nodded weakly, receiving a stern look. There was no sympathy in the man's eyes. "You're late."

Tavros nodded again.

"Well, where is your late slip?"

He felt his gut go cold. "I-I, uh… My, um, it's… I n-never got one?"

The teacher shook his head and moved to pick up the phone. The whole class snickered and continued to murmur while the teacher reported Tavros' presence in the building and his lack of an excuse note. "Mhm," He murmured into the receiver. "Yes. Hm? Oh, has he? That would explain it. Alright. Yes, thank you. Goodbye." He hung up and looked down at Tavros with a irritated look. "Go on, they're asking for you. Office."

Tavros didn't say anything. He accepted his hall pass silently, setting it in his lap as he pushed himself towards the door. When he opened it, it banged noisily against the front of his chair. He hung his head when the class snickered, and he retreated as fast as he could. No one offered to help him.

Tavros didn't realize he was crying until he saw the drops of moisture splattering on his hall pass. He longed for the safety of home, or of Gamzee's reassuring smile. People at school were cold, uncaring, and just plain mean. Tavros hadn't intended to be late, it wasn't his fault that the only existing wheelchair ramp was like a death trap. The day had hardly begun and already he wanted to go home. Miserable, he stopped a curve away from the office to rest his arms, stuffing both hands into the pockets of his jacket. The right side felt so much warmer than the left, and when he dug in deeper, he curled his fingers gently around his bundle of brownies. He pulled out what remained and ate them quickly, taking comfort in their warmth and flavor. With the warm chocolate in his stomach he didn't feel as sick, and his will to move on grew a little stronger. He pushed forward and rounded the corner when suddenly he heard an all too familiar voice. Intending to make a metaphorical run for it, Tavros started to turn, but he had already been seen and the principal, Mrs. Delora, urged him over.

Cowering in his chair, he parked in one of the two desks in the front of the office. The other was occupied by none other than Vriska Serket. When she caught his eye, her own flickered down to his chair than back again. Her expression was frightening, a mixture of what looked like shock, and anger. The look ended as quick as it began, but Tavros felt as if it had caused a layer of frost to settle over him. Involuntarily, he shivered.

After getting over the initial chill and nausea, Tavros noticed that the meeting was already in progress. Mrs. Delora appeared to be repeating herself when she announced that he and Vriska would receive two months detention after their little paintball disaster. Vriska seemed pissed, but not surprised. "To start with, you'll be scrubbing down the stairwell," The principal said. "You're lucky the paint is removable. Are we clear?"

"N-no," Tavros mumbled, voice hardly audible even in the relatively quiet room.

The women looked stunned. "Excuse me?"

Swallowing through the lump in his throat, Tavros stared down at his knees, rubbing them with both hands. He wished he could feel it. "I-I… I can't."

"Is that so?" She challenged. "Why not?"

Lower lip trembling, Tavros awkwardly wheeled away frown the desk, reviling his chair. Vriska was uncharacteristically silent. "My uh, my legs, M-Mrs. Delora."

The principal let out a sound of pity, her face melting into a look of smothering sympathy. "Oh, sweetheart," She cooed, coming around to pat his shoulder apologetically. "I'm so sorry, dear. Let me tell you what, you've never been one to display any real negative behaviors, on account of that, and your injuries, we'll find something a little easier for you to do, okay? Don't cry."

Without another word Tavros backed out of the room, rounding the corner and locking his wheels, just burying his face in his hands. Detention. He was already paralyzed, why punish him more? Because he had been _so eager_ to impress a girl who didn't even like him, he wound up paralyzed _and _in detention. He was so distraught that when he heard the click of heels, he didn't look up right away, but when they stopped very close, he slowly came out of his crouch.

Vriska's hair was in a tight pony tail, stray waves braided into a golden crown. Her lips navy blue like her eyes, and he expression cold, she looked upset, uncomfortable, and annoyed. She wore a loosely knit sweater over a navy tank top, a pair of dark jeans, and the flashy red heels that had alerted him of her approach. Her beauty left him with a pang of heart ache, and the silence dragged on. "They look fine to me," She finally said, crossing her arms and facing away. She had been staring at his legs with a dark pout. "No blood, no bones, not even a cast."

Neither of them wanted to make eye contact. "They… they're um, there's no cast because I… My legs I mean, aren't uh, broken exactly."

"Then you're faking," She accused, looking both appalled, and if he wasn't mistaken, relieved. "You should be scrubbing stairs!"

"… I can't."

"Why the hell not?"

Tavros clenched his jaw tight, fighting against the stinging in his eyes. "My legs aren't broken, I'm… P-paralyzed."

Her eyes widened, glowing behind her glasses, and her blue lips parted in a silent gasp. The expression should have made him feel better. She wasn't laughing, the news was upsetting to her, but it instead just made him angry. His hands shook and he wanted to badly to scream, but when he spoke his voice was broken and small. He only wanted to know one thing. "Why?"

For once, Vriska spoke to him very softly. "Why what, Tavros?"

"Why did you push me?"

Like a switch had been flipped, Vriska went from gentle to furious. "Don't ask such stupid questions!" She shrieked. "I didn't _push _anyone, you clumsy moron! You _fell!"_

"Well, can I ask why you kissed me?" He demanded, voice increasing in both volume, and strength. "You don't love me, I'm pretty sure that… that you don't even _like_ me!"

Vriska aggressively slammed both hands on the armrests of Tavros' chair, leaning in with a glowing eyed glare. When her eyes closed, his attention was snatched away by a harsh kiss to the lips, Vriska's mouth rough and angry, burning up on his own. Head spinning, he battled between two great, and conflicting desires. He wanted her, he longed for her, but he was angry, hurt, and the thought of getting tangled in her web again was rejected by his whole being. He gripped her shoulder and pushed her back, his hand not forceful or hostile, but firm despite the tremor in his fingers. "You don't love me," He repeated. His voice was low, and unsteady, hardly above a whisper.

Her eyes narrowed and for a moment, the sound of her breathing trembled, but then any emotion that may have been on her face was replaced with anger, her glare as sharp as a knife, forged by only ice. "I could _never_ love you."

Sharply she straightened her spine and then turned on her heel, disappearing down the empty hall. For a minute Tavros just sat there breathing, his wheels locked and his jaw tight. He already knew she was perfect, and he knew that they could never coexist as one, but though she made him angrier than anyone else ever could, he couldn't help but long to join in her perfection. Because maybe, if he did, just a flicker of the confidence she held would fall on him.


	8. Chapter 8

Detention was boring, tedious, and mind numbingly mundane. They had Tavros sorting papers for a good two hours after school, picking up boxes from the closes and wheeling them over to the cabinet he was supposed to organize them into. There were all sorts of useless, page long documents inside. His arms ached from the constant rolling back and forth, and from the heavy loads he carried with him. Being the only detention attendee unable to scrub stairs, he as all by himself the whole time. After what seemed like ages a staff member came along, checked his progress and told him his father was waiting for him outside. He felt a little grouchier anticipating having to be carried again, but to his surprise he didn't see his Dad's worn out truck anywhere, even after circling the school. Frowning, he looked around to scan the lot full of cars one last time, and then suddenly he was frightened half to death by a deep, rumbling engine of a very fine tuned machine. Tavros turned his head as the rumble settled into a purr, and was shocked to see a glossy, burnt orange sports car pull up in front of him, his father at the wheel. _"Dad?"_

Simon grinned vibrantly, looking younger and worlds happier than when Tavros saw him last. The man casually flicked a button with his thumb, and the passenger door glided open, a small ramp unfolding, just perfect for Tavros' wheelchair. Stunned, Tavros crept his way towards the ramp, surprised by how stable it was. When he was all the way in, he noticed a special buckle that secured both his body, and his chair. Tavros was shocked, confused, and highly suspicious, but he wasn't exactly sure what it was that he suspected. How had Simon afforded something like that? He buckled in silently though, not questioning the fancy vehicle at all. "Hey, sport," Simon said cheerfully, punching Tavros lightly on the arm.

Tavros waved pathetically, still pretty upset about how his day had gone. He wanted to be back with Gamzee. "Hi."

"Cheer up, I've got something for you."

When they arrived at home, Tavros was able to roll in the house on his own, a sturdy new ramp leading inside through the back door. Simon rushed in past him and quickly came back with a box, his energy and excitement almost disarming to Tavros, who was used to seeing the man bone tired. "Well, open it up!"

Slowly, Tavros opened up the box, pulling out a brand new peter pan costume. There were no patches, no rough or fraying seams, just crisp and sturdy fabric, ready for action. "H-how did, like, wasn't this… Expensive?" He stammered, knowing how much Simon struggled just to pay their bills each month. "It's not even, uh, not even my birthday… you didn't um, have to d-do that…"

"I wanted to," Simon said, pulling Tavros into a tight hug. "You don't have to worry anymore, Tavros. Not about money. A lot of things are going to change now, for the better."

Hearing his father sounding so happy and so free of stress made Tavros _want _to smile, but he couldn't help but feel unsure. The sudden and unexplained good fortune left Tavros feeling uneasy. Simon would tell him if he had gotten some sort of a raise, right? Simon would have mentioned a new job, or a lottery win, or some sort of secret treasure, right? What wouldn't Simon want to tell Tavros? Hundreds of questions like that bounced around in his head as his day came to a close, and the next day it was even worse, but suddenly, there was something new to worry about. After detention was his very first appointment with his new physical therapist. He hadn't thought they'd be able to afford it before.

Doctor Tillman, she asked Tavros to call her just "Chloe," was a young women with dark, curly hair and a very bright smile. She was kind, patient, and very gentle, but even after an hour of therapy there were no results. The fact upset Tavros, but she assured him that it was only the beginning, and to just keep trying. Every day after detention he tried, but even after weeks of daily visits there was no change. Tavros had begun to lose hope until one afternoon; Chloe proposed they try out a new technique. They had been doing mostly exercises up until that point in an attempt to build up strength. That day she decided they would focus more on feeling.

They started with a set of pinches, rubs, and pokes, but Tavros couldn't feel a thing. They moved on to mild shocks and Tavros was distraught when still, no feeling returned to him. "You've got to focus, sweetie," Chloe said gently. "Keep trying. Focus really hard on your legs."

With a deep breath Tavros closed his eyes, trying to imagine how a shock would feel on his thigh. It would surely tingle, like touching a doorknob after shuffling through carpet in socks. Maybe it would sting, like when he fell and skinned his knees so bad they bled for an hour. The pain of that had been pretty awful, but at least he had felt it. Tavros would have rather felt pain then nothing at all, and as if the thought had somehow triggered his nerves, Tavros felt a sudden zap just about his knee and he yelped, hand flying to the affected area. His eyes were wide and his breathing was suddenly quick and shallow. He couldn't feel his hand, but he knew for a fact that he had felt a shock. "C-can you do it again?"

Smiling wide, Chloe pressed the button again and waited, but in seconds Tavros' excitement deflated. That time, he felt nothing. "Don't be sad, Tavros," Chloe said. "We're making real progress now! If we keep it up, I just _know_ you'll regain full feeling."

Clinging to that hope, Tavros found Simon and went home. Though the man was still being very secretive, Tavros knew _something_ big had to have changed. They spent a lot of time together, Simon didn't seem to ever be at work anymore, but when Tavros woke in the middle of the night, he could sense that the house was empty. "Where were you last night?" Tavros asked one morning over breakfast. "And uh, the… the um, two nights before that."

Simon looked up from his coffee. "Work, you goober," He said after a pause.

Did you… get uh, like, a better job?" Tavros asked. He didn't work at the mechanic's shop anymore that was for sure, it closed at seven, and there was no way the diner gave such a heft raise. He was a waiter, it made no sense.

"I guess you could say that."

The fact that Simon would say no more upset Tavros a little, but he didn't push the subject again. Simon was happy, they were paying all of their bills and apparently, they had a bounty to spare. Why should Tavros be upset? He knew he should have just appreciated the good fortune, but he didn't like it when Simon was so secretive. On the way to school Tavros was thoughtful, but once he entered the building his focus was warped onto something else entirely.

He was instantly overwhelmed with copious amounts of pink and red paper, all cut into large hearts and glittering cupids, hung all over the halls, doors, and lockers. Valentine's Day had come, and Tavros hadn't even realized. Inwardly he groaned, forcing himself to roll forward through the halls, seeing couples snuggling, snogging, and swapping gifts all over the place. Tavros didn't dislike romance, he was actually pretty fond of it compared to most teenage boys, but the closest thing to romance he had ever experienced was his crush on Vriska, and it still pained him to think about that one too much.

The thought of romance evoked another memory, though, one that was much more pleasant than any encounter with Vriska. For a moment he relived the frantic beating of heart that had been triggered before by a pair of stunning indigo eyes, clean, dark facial features in stunning clarity. A deep blush settled on Tavros' cheeks as he maneuvered himself behind the one chair-less desk in his first period class. Never before had Tavros connected that sort of shivering, stirring feeling with Gamzee, but he was almost alarmed to realize that the feelings had been around before. When he looked again at the couples littering the building, he tried very hard not to process what he was feeling.

Most Valentine's Day's he had spent with Gamzee, or his father. He had a little crush once on a girl in kindergarten, and he had given her a cupcake, but that had been it. Even so, he had never spent the day completely alone before. His day was lonely to say the least.

On the way to detention he was feeling pretty pathetic, and when he turned a corner, a flash of blue stopped him in his tracks. Hair done up in lace, navy ribbons, Vriska stood with her back to him, watching a guy with a ghost busters tee shirt artfully shuffle a deck of cards. Tavros retreated before he could be seen, feeling frustrated, angry, and jealous. However he wasn't sure if he was really jealous of the stranger with the cards or just bitter because he was all alone.

Upset enough as it was, Tavros found himself wanting to scream with frustration as he suffered through detention. He kept on dropping boxes, folders, and thick packets of paper, scattering the important files all over the floor, mixing them up with the rest. With his chair in the way it was nearly impossible to pick everything up. It was making him so mad he wanted to pull his hair out, and he was nearly to the point of tears, every lonely day, every stinging word of judgment, and every fruitless therapy session building up the stress inside him until suddenly, there was a sharp rapping on the window across the room. Tavros huffed out a sigh, letting his head hang down for a breath. When the sound repeated itself, Tavros finally looked up and then, a gasp caught in his throat. His brown eyes met indigo, and a lazy smile was flashed his way. Gamzee, outside in the bushes, motioned for Tavros to open the window, then held up a brown paper bag that was simply mummified in heart stickers.

Tavros rushed over to let him in, brushing stray drops of moisture from his eyes in hopes of protecting his pride. "Hey hey, motherfucker," Gamzee drawled.

"H-how, uh, I mean, what are you doing here?"

"Messiahs up and told me you could use a bit of hand," Gamzee replied, swinging a leg over the window sill and stumbling inside. He slipped on a sheet of fallen paper and landed on his rear, chuckling and looking up at Tavros from the floor. "Truth was delivered, it seems."

"I've uh, been…" He sniffed. "H-having a bit of um, trouble."

Sprawling out on his stomach, Gamzee spread out his arms and swept the majority of the papers towards him, stacking them all up in a semi neat fashion. Then, he looked up and pushed the brown bag closer to Tavros. "Happy hearts day, my brother."

A small smile touched Tavros' face and he took the bag. Inside were two different kinds of snack. On the one hand, there were little sugar cookies with white icing and red hearts, and then, in a separate Ziploc, were brownies. They had purple icing, and little white clown faces. "Th-thanks," Tavros said enthusiastically. He reached for one of the brownies, but then his hand was stopped by Gamzee's. Tavros felt his heart beat over the warmth of the others hand. "What?"

"The brownies are blessed, Tavbro," Gamzee warned, as if he had forgotten he had put them with the cookies. "They've all up and got tons of special stardust mixed on in."

Tavros knew that the so called "stardust" Was the drug responsible for Gamzee's near constant high, but as he picked up the brownie and turned it over in his hand, he thought that maybe, a moment of chill would do him some good. "C-can I uh, is it… alright if I give it a try?"

Gamzee looked surprised, but nodded encouragingly and smiled, getting up to pat Tavros on the shoulder. "Sure, man."

Hesitantly, Tavros sank his teeth into the soft, crumbly brownie, feeling the pit of his stomach tingle pleasantly just seconds after swallowing. He was a little dizzy, but it felt pretty nice, like each grain of stardust was a little egg, and his belly was the perfect place for a slurry of baby fairies to hatch. The sensations made him giggle, and he shoved the rest into his mouth, licking the icing from his fingers and snickering at Gamzee. "Wowwwwwwwwwwwwww," He drawled.

"Go Tavbro," Gamzee whooped, giving him a hearty slap on the back. He started to spit out free style rap lyrics, clearly making them up as he went along. "Little man had got the stardust up and chilling his bones, the motherfuck's in the zone, all done with being alone!"

Tavros' eyes lit up and he energetically drummed on the arms of his chair, continuing the rap with wild enthusiasm. "I uh, uh, um, I've got a belly full of brownies with a j-juggalo kick, making messes with my fingers, lots of icing to lick. I'm in trouble, but a bubble of good vibes has appeared. F-feeling silly cuz I've got my b-b-buddy right here!"

In that sort of rambunctious fashion they continued to eat drugged treats, file the papers, and shout what must have been the worst rap battle in the history of paradox space at the top of their lungs. To Tavros' surprise, they got the day's filing done despite their heavy intoxication, and it had been pretty fun, but as they were cleaning up Tavros found himself rhythmically stuttering, unable to come up with more rhymes. He started snickering, and so did Gamzee. "That's alright, bro," the clown told him, standing and kneeling on the floor by his feet. "We can go to my place and recharge our motherfucking batteries, finish up our slam poetry in a bit…" Gamzee leaned in slowly as he talked, covering Tavros' knee with his hand. "We could even make out a little."

With a start, Tavros jerked his wheels back, slipping out of Gamzee's reach. Suddenly, he felt very sober. "U-uhhh," He stammered. "Uhhh, uhh…. No, um, no I-I can't… I have to go."

He hastily made an escape, speeding out of the room and down the hall. Panic was being pumped frantically through his veins and his head was a jumbled mess because he was high, he had no idea how to process his emotions, and he had felt that touch to his knee like fire, making his heart thud at an inhuman rate. He had to get home, but no matter how many times he dialed, Simon never answered his phone. In desperation Tavros left the school grounds on his own, rolling down sidewalks as fast as his wheels would carry him until he was finally home. He was panting for breath.

The first thing he thought to do was curl up in Simon's bed. What else could he have done? It was one of the few places in the whole world that could comfort him in that moment. He had longed for his Mother in the depths of his depression, and he still did, but he also wanted his Dad, the one who'd step in front of a train for him, then tell him it was all okay. By himself, nothing felt okay. He still had feelings for Vriska, a girl who didn't even like him and seemed to be taken anyway, but after that burning touch he was realizing that Gamzee always roused a stirring sensation within him, one he couldn't really describe. His knee still tingled.

Even through the anxiety and confusion, Tavros was beginning to feel something was off. Something wasn't quite right. He sniffled and wiped his eyes, glancing around the room and frowning when he realized what the problem was. Simon's clothes, which were usually folded or draped neatly over hangers, were strewn all over the floor. His father usually kept his room pretty tidy and would never just leave such a mess for no reason, especially with all the spare time he's been having. Puzzled, Tavros glanced towards the closet, frown deepening when he saw close to nothing on the racks. Instead of the age old car poster that used to hang behind them, there was some sort of figure hiding in the shadows. It was no flat wall. Tavros squinted. The closet was still dark, and from his position on the bed he couldn't quite tell, but there seemed to be something back there, something situated behind a large pane of glass. The closet was obviously no place for such a large window, so curiosity had Tavros easing back into his chair and moving slowly towards the open doors. When he flicked on the lights, the misplaced window turned out to be a huge display case. Spot lights illuminated a tall mannequin, and on the wall behind it there were what seemed like a hundred different photographs. Some were clippings from magazines, some from newspapers, there were even colorful drawings and beautiful paintings, each of his childhood hero, The Summoner, depicted as not only a hero, but a real person. The person looked very familiar. As the center peace of the display, the mannequin seemed very bare, the costume from every picture lost from its shoulders.

A sudden rattling sound made Tavros jump and he turned his chair around as fast as he could, watching with wide eyes and a frantically beating heart as his father, with a motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm, stumbled through the door, wearing the costume that was missing from the stand.


	9. Chapter 9

((Hello, Angel Allen here! Thank you all for reading so far into this story, I hope you're enjoying, and I hope you like this chapter. Unfortunately I will be putting this story on hold for about a month I a half, because november is National Writing Month and I have been pestered to write an original novel within that month. I'm gonna try, and for those who want it I'll provide a link to the hopefully finished product then, but for now, goodbye!))

When their eyes met Tavros felt dizzy and lost. Then Summoner was real, not just a bunch of stories, but history. His father's history. "D-Dad," Tavros breathed, feeling faint. "Dad, you're… The Summoner's been you all alone? H-he… you're real!"

"Tavros," Simon said slowly, gently, careful not to say anything to upset his son more. "The Summoner… I didn't want you to find out this way, maybe when you got older I would have…" Simon trailed off when Tavros' eyes filled with tears. "Tavros…"

"All those stories, all th-those great things you… you did for people… why wouldn't you tell me? Why would you lie about being a hero?"

Tavros' voice broke and Simon's heart did the same. "Tavros I didn't want to scare you, the mafia is a dangerous thing, all risk, when you were born I… I just wanted you to be safe from all of that. I have enemies Tavros. I quit because you were more important."

"But you went back," Tavros cried, gesturing angrily at his clothes. "You, you c-could have just… just told me then!"

"You're seventeen," Simon said firmly. "You shouldn't have to be worrying about gang activity!"

"What about the other heroes?" Tavros demanded. "The Grand Highblood and The Signless?"

"The Signless, Silas Vantas, has been dead for twenty four years now."

There was pain in Simon's voice, so Tavros lowered his. "How did he die?"

"The Grand Highblood… Changed, he took a turn for the worst, and Silas paid for it." Simon looked down. "The highblood and I broke apart after that, the lower ranked gang members picked sides, and we've been fighting ever since. Even after I left, the kept fighting."

Tavros paused, feeling a frightened chill settle in his core. "Who is The Grand Highblood, Dad?"

Simon's voice was thick with emotion. "Grant Makara."

"Makara?" Tavros screamed, tears spilling down his cheeks. "Gamzee's father is an evil mafia boss?"

"I'm a mafia boss too, Tavros, now calm down. He-"

"Is that why Gamzee's been abused all his life?" Tavros wanted to know, voice braking again. "Because… B-because is Dad is some demented psycho?" Tavros glared through his tears. "Dad, you knew, didn't you? Y-you're a hero, dammit! Gamzee was hurting and you could have stopped it!"

"You think I didn't try? This problem is much bigger than just pain and hurt, Tavros. It's too big for a guy like me to handle, alright? I'm not a hero anymore!"

"Yes you are!" He cried. "Look at yourself! You're the only one who could handle it!"

Simon put a hand on his shoulder but he jerked away, struggling to turn his chair around ad retreat. "Tavros," Simon begged, hating to see his kid having such trouble. "Just let me help."

"Leave me alone!"

The sting of Tavros' anger was like a blade in Simon's heart, and the pain radiated off of him in chilling waves, but Tavros had to get away. He quickly hid in his bedroom; unable to believe Simon had lied to him for so many years. He didn't truly blame Simon for Gamzee's horrific upbringing, how could he? But still, Tavros was sure that if Simon had never left the mafia, he would have been able to stop Grant from causing so much pain. He thought about the look in Gamzee's eyes when they woke so close together, and the way he had looked just hours ago, leaning in closer. Gamzee was so gentle, so affectionate, and so selfless; Tavros couldn't imagine how anyone could scrape up the will to harm him. Just as the tear he hadn't known he shed slipped down the bridge of his nose, he heard Simon calling to him from behind his door. "Tavros," He said gently. "You still have therapy today, come on. I won't even make you go, I know you hate it, I just want to talk."

But Tavros didn't want to talk, and he didn't hate his therapy. When he pressed his fingertips against his upper leg, he could feel it. He had to use bruising strength, and it hurt, but he could feel it. It was a tingle really, a very faint, whisper of a feeling, but after having nothing for so long, it was a thing he treasured. Tavros waited until Simon had given up on talking for the time being, and he snuck out the back door, rolling down the side walk and towards the nearest bus stop. He wanted so badly to have another fruitful appointment, he was dying for some exercise or trick that would stimulate his nerves like that again. He missed it, he couldn't stop squeezing his knee. Unfortunately when the bus arrived, Tavros realized that because of the stairs leading up, he was completely unable to board. Stammering out an apology, Tavros prepared to just turn back when suddenly, he and his whole chair was lifted onto the bus by a frightfully muscular, tall, and dark skinned stranger. The man had stringy black hair that hung loosely around his shoulders, a pair of cracked shades, and a black muscle shirt with no jacket, despite it being the middle of winter. He held a box of robot parts under one arm, and had a My Little Pony valentine in his hand. It was signed by a drawing of a cat, and an olive green lipstick mark. He dropped it into the box when he caught Tavros looking.

"Equius Zahhak," He said, reaching to shake Tavros' hand. "If you alert me when the bus reaches your stop, I will assist you in exiting ."

"Y-you're really strong," Tavros said breathlessly.

"Yes, I am."

Out of necessity, Tavros wound up sitting by Equius, he being the only one willing to help Tavros _not_ roll all over the place. His muscular build frightened Tavros a lot, he had even more muscle than Simon did, but he tried not to think too much of that. He seemed gentle enough though, at least in his current mood. He seemed the type that would anger easily, so Tavros tried to make some small talk to defuse the tension a little. "S-so," He began awkwardly, peering into the box of scrap metal. "What's that?"

"It is from a young lady quite dear to me," Equius replied. If Tavros wasn't mistaken, a blush crept past his dark complexion. "She tends to be a bit overly enthusiastic with her crafts, but she insisted I carry I around with me at least for today…"

"No uh, not the valentine," Tavros laughed.

Equius seemed flustered, drops of sweat appearing on his forehead. "Of course. Those are materials for my inventions."

"Inventions?"

"I am currently studying the possibilities behind medical robotics."

Tavros blinked, impressed. "I uh, didn't know that was a thing."

Equius nodded and the rest of the ride went by silently. The bus eventually stopped and Equius helped him out, saying a polite goodbye. He didn't have too much trouble getting to Chloe's office from there, and when she questioned why he was alone he easily dodged it by reporting that he could feel his upper legs, if even just a little. She eagerly pressed the subject as they got him settled in. She told him that because of his progress, they could return to working on his strength. She strapped his calves into an exercise bike that peddled on its own. While it worked his legs out for him, he let his mind wonder back to the sweaty guy on the bus, the fond manner in which he talked about his valentine. He cared about her enough to carry around a glitter frothing color bomb, and she cared enough about him to want everyone to know about it. Love like that was special, it was the kind of love he snuck out of bed at night to see when he was little, the kind he watched his parents share as they cuddled on the couch, just talking about their days. Tavros wanted something like that, but when he had been actually faced with it, he choked, hurting Gamzee's feelings and ruining any chance of exploring his own. He may have even ruined their friendship.

Angry with himself, his face fell into a pout, staying that way until Chloe finally turned off his exercise bike, hands on her hips as she took in his sullen expression. "Not feeling it, honey?"

He just shook his head and she sighed, pushing the bike aside and instead positioning what looked like the gas pedal from a car under his foot. "What's that?" He asked.

"Just a fancy foot button," She assured him. "What I want you to do, is press it."

Tavros looked at her incredulously. "I can't do that."

"You didn't even try," She countered.

"But I can't do it, you… I mean, I'm still p-paralyzed, you know."

"Yes, I know, but we're gonna try it anyway, okay?"

Tavros frowned, focusing hard on his toes, fighting to push past the oppressive nothingness that smothered them. There was no result, nothing but resistance and he cross his arms. _"I can't,"_ He snapped, pride wounded, heart crushed.

"Yes you can," Chloe insisted. "This is very important; you need to be able to do this. Once you get past this block everything else will be cake, trust me."

_"I can't do it."_

"Tavros?"

_"I can't!"_

"Tavros."

_"I said I can't!"_

"Tavros!"

_"What?"_ He cried.

She turned around her little tablet, showing him the graph that kept track of the pressure put on the pedal. The line had jumped, and was still wavering, stabilizing at about seven pounds of pressure. Not much, but something. Stunned, Tavros pushed down on the pedal over and over, watching the line jump from seven, to about twelve and back again. His toes curled in his socks. "Wait until we tell your father!" She enthused, squeezing him in a tight hug.

Tavros rushed home, wheeling the whole way down side walked and cross walks until finally making it, panting for breath. Almost the whole way he continued to curl and uncurl his toes, but when he got home and shouted for Simon, no reply came. When he peeked out the window, both Simon's car, and his new motorcycle were parked in plain sight, but the man himself was nowhere to be seen. He decided that maybe Simon was napping, or in the shower, so he wheeled into the man's room, calling for him again, but suddenly his breath hitched in his throat. His blood ran cold.

Simon's room was a crime scene, the window broken, glass all over the floor. Large pieces of furniture were knocked about or even laying in in splinters, everything in the room was completely trashed save for one plain, wooden stool, and the file folder that laid neatly on top. Stomach churning, Tavros pushed his wheels forward, inching closer to the folder with his breathing shallow and faint. When he picked up the folder it wobbled audibly in his hands, and when he opened it, he nearly dropped everything. Inside were dozens of pictures, all of his mother, in a house with rainbow splattered walls. She was trapped, tied up and fighting, still just as beautiful as he remembered her to be. Under the photographs was an address and a note, scrawled messily across the back flap of the folder what Tavros just knew was Simon's fresh blood.

_Come & play little bro? :o)_

The world spun around him. Every picture was dated, most going back years, others just days. Some only went back hours, taken that very day. His mother was alive, Simon was somewhere bleeding, and he had to do something. It was a trap, obviously, he knew that. The Grand Highblood was reeling him in on a hook, but Tavros couldn't just do nothing when his parents were in such danger. Dizzily, he drew the folder into his lap and backed out of the wreckage, hurrying to his room where he had stashed his new Peter Pan cosplay. As he gathered things like fabric markers and scissors, Tavros dialed Gamzee's number. He knew he was rolling right into The Grand Highbloods plot, but he didn't have to do it alone.

As soon as he heard the ringing stop he spoke, before Gamzee could even say hello let alone mention what had happened in detention. "I need you," Tavros said sharply, voice strong despite his desperation. "My Mom is alive, Gamzee, and I'm pretty sure our Dads are about to kill each other. _I need your help."_

There was a long pause, and then Gamzee spoke in a slow, serious voice. "I'm on my way."

Tavros hung up the phone and he spread his costume out across his lap, taking a brown marker and drawing the Taurus symbol, the mark of The Summoner, on the front. Then, he tore off the sleeves, mimicking the design of his father's muscle shirt. He shrugged out of his leather jacket and on the back of that, he drew a pair of glittering orange wings. The outfit was neither truly necessary or exactly like his father's, but the clothes gave him confidence. He would fight for his Dad, his hero, until his last breath and he wanted to show it. With shaking fingers, he picked up his plucky green hat, adjusting the little feather before fitting it over his Mohawk. He was terrified, fear gripping him by the ribs, but he had to learn to stand up, grit his teeth, and be brave. Simon, The Summoner, had been right on that morning on the way to Gamzee's house, and he had been right in his youth. Some things were more important than fear, and family, was one of those things.


End file.
